On Wings of Silver and Lead
by impoeia
Summary: Jedi and clone trooper. Each would come to play his part in a conflict that would change the face of the galaxy for ever. But where did it all begin? What were the experiences that shaped these people, that gave them wings to fly and burdens to weigh them down? We shall see...Chapter 30: It is time to take to the skies.
1. Chapter 1: 40 BBY

****_Star Wars _is and always will be the brainchild of Mr. George Lucas. All characters, places and creatures great and small belong to him and authors such as Karen Traviss, Karen Miller, Paul S. Kemp, Drew Karpyshyn and countless others. The same thing applies to the songs featured in each chapter. My musical talents only extend to the point of turning green with envy. I only lay claim to my OC's, who I am sending to wander this wide galaxy. Cheers!

* * *

**Baby Girl**

"_And when you were born, they looked at you and said,_

_what a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl." _

"_What a Good Boy" by Barenaked Ladies_

* * *

Dantooine, Arhen farm, 40 BBY

Larna's head fell back into the pillows. She gasped, trying to catch her breath before the next contraction hit. When it did, she gritted her teeth and tried to remember her breathing, while at the same time attempting to muster the strength for another push.

Her older sister, Karmia, held her left hand tightly; making soothing noises in the back of her throat, while trying not to wince at Larna's strong, desperate grip. Tali, a second cousin on her mother's side, was carefully wringing out a wet cloth, before gently wiping the sweat from the laboring woman's forehead. It felt good and in the few seconds between the pains of labor, Larna managed a soft sigh and a weak, watery smile for the younger girl. Tali was only fourteen and she looked about as scared as Larna felt.

_Whoever said that this becomes easier the second time around never had children, _she thought, before her body was once more seized with a contraction and all coherent thought fled her.

"Now Larna, push. Push." Her grandmother was urging her on, her grey head bent between Larna's legs. Her hands, calloused from a life of work and spotted with age, were gentle as they helped Larna bring a new life into the family. Her mother, a seemingly older version of Larna, stood next to the family's matriarch, handing her tools or gently massaging her daughter's swollen abdomen. Like old Genesa, Tirma was a tried hand at midwifery.

Larna gritted her teeth and pushed. She felt the blood rush to her face, sweat pop from her pores. She gave up trying to be brave and screamed with the pain; loud and tired….until a second voice joined hers.

The release from the pain was almost like a physical blow and Larna let herself fall back, utterly exhausted by her efforts of the past few hours. She gulped in air, dimly heard the excited voices of the other women and listened raptly to the lusty cries of her newborn baby. She was suddenly overcome by feelings of _terror, cold, _an awful sense of _discomfort _and _disorientation_. For a moment, her eyes became unfocused, the lights appeared painfully bright and the ambient noise in the birthing room became senseless babble. She was afraid, so terribly afraid and all she wanted to do was scream and scream….

Her sister's excited and jubilant voice brought her back to herself.

"You did it Larna, you did it."

Karmia was still holding her hand, except now it was her turn to squeeze it almost painfully.

Still disoriented by her sudden – what? Panic attack? - Larna still found herself able to smile weakly at her sister, bemused by the older woman's antics. Karmia was already in her forties, with three children of her own._ And still as excitable as a child. _The thought made her smile widen and dispersed the last fragments of those strange, frightful few seconds. It must have been fatigue, the strain of her labor. She allowed her body to relax into the comforts of the bed, while Tali, also smiling broadly, wiped her brow again. She already felt better and her mood seemed to soar into unknown regions of happiness.

Then the baby stopped crying.

Larna jerked upright, her eyes wide in alarm. "What is it? What's wrong? Mama, gran?"

Her mother and grandmother were bending over the little bundle in their arms; exchanging first worried glances with each other, then looking back down onto the suddenly silent baby.

"I don't know Larna," her mother answered, while Genesa took the baby over to a table. "She just went quiet all of a sudden."

"She?" Larna asked weakly. "It's a girl?"

"Aye, a girl, deary," her grandmother croaked. "And a healthy one at that."

Tirma turned towards the older woman, her face a worried frown. "You sure, mama?"

Genesa gave an indignant sniff, favoring her child with a withering stare. "I'll let you know I've birthed more babies in my lifetime than ye'll ever see in yours." She hefted the baby, now safely wrapped in a warm, soft blanket, into the crook of her arm. Her wrinkled face lifted in a smile. "She be small, but she be strong and healthy." She cocked her head to the side, the braid of her grey hair falling over her shoulder. There was slight puzzlement to her tone when she said: "And happy. She be a happy child, too."

Soothed by her grandmother's words, Larna held out her arms eagerly. And when Genesa gently handed her daughter over, her face – tired, puffy and drenched – was transformed by a beatific smile. She felt so warm, so safe. So unerringly loved.

* * *

Gossinger held his new daughter gingerly; as if afraid she would break apart in his hold. She was such a tiny thing, practically dwarfed in the crook of his arm, well muscled by years of hard physical labor.

He'd finally been allowed into the birthing room, after pacing restlessly for hours in the hallway. While men were a necessary, and appreciated, part in the creation process, the actual birth remained a domain exclusively reserved for women. At least on Dantooine. So while his wife had labored to bring their child into this world, he had been rendered…well, impotent. Unable to help, to hold her hand or soothe her, he'd paced like a caged nexu under the amused eyes of his father-in-law and assorted male relatives. It had been frustrating, now just as much as it had been when Garett had been born.

But this…this made up for everything. His daughter scrunched up her face, then blinked her still unfocused eyes. They were a startling shade of teal. _Just like her mama, _he thought and felt himself break out into a foolish, dopey grin. His daughter gurgled happily in return.

"She's wonderful, isn't she?" Larna asked from her position on the bed. The other women had made sure she was comfortable before leaving the new parents alone: changing the sheets and Larna's nightgown, washing the sweat from her body, even combing out her pale blond hair.

The same hair that crowned his daughter's head in small, fine tufts. "Yes, Larna. She's absolutely beautiful."

He sat down carefully beside his wife, feeling the mattress dip under his large frame. Whereas Larna was as slight as a willow, Gossinger was a mountain; easily six foot three. Judging from how tiny she was now, Gossinger figured his baby girl would favor her mother's side of the family in size as well.

"What should we call her?" he asked.

Larna leaned against him, a thoughtful expression on her face. They'd discussed names of course, but even in nine months they hadn't been able to narrow the list of possibles down.

Gossinger looked down at his daughter, gently tickling her chin with one large, blunt finger. The baby gurgled again, waving one hand in an uncoordinated attempt to capture the teasing finger.

"What are you little one?" he mused, slowly. "Are you a Tiana or a Malory? Are you a Seckna or a Yfandra?"

Teal eyes blinked at him again, this time slightly puzzled, as if she were trying to understand what this impossibly large giant, her father, wanted from her.

"Roweena," Larna said suddenly. "Let's call her Roweena."

Gossinger gave a despairing groan. "For heaven's sake, why punish the child with a name like that?"

Larna glared at him. "It's not punishment, it's perfect." She poked him just for good measure. "And Roweena is a lovely name. Besides, it was your aunt's name. I'm sure she'd be pleased."

"My aunt," Gossinger said with some dignity, "was an old woman. I will not give my child an old woman's name."

Larna rolled her eyes at this. "Your aunt was a pilot and explorer. Just think of it," and she sighed in dreamy thoughtfulness, "flying among the stars, visiting distant and exotic worlds. It's just so," she waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing the enclosed space of the room surrounding them, "adventurous."

"Sometimes Larna, I think the only reason you married me was for my family history."

She was about to reply, and hotly no doubt, when there was a knock on the door. Venner, Larna's younger brother, stuck his head through, grinning at the pair. "There's someone here who wants to meet his new baby sister."

A boy of four, tall for his age, but slim, with the Arhen's platinum blond hair, hesitantly stepped into the room. Gossinger smiled reassuringly at his son, beckoning to him with a jerk of his head. Garett stepped to the bed, his eyes, teal like those of his mother and sister, were wide with wonder.

"C'mon in son and say hello." Gossinger knelt on the floor, holding the little girl on eye-level with his son. The boy bent over curiously.

"She's all wrinkly, like gran." He stated. Gossinger chuckled and he could see, from the corner of his eye, Larna covering a grin.

"That'll smooth out, son. You'll see."

Garett looked from his father, to his mother, then back at his new baby sister. For a moment, Garett's face furrowed into a frown of concentration, before being split nearly in half by a huge smile of delight.

"She likes me." He declared. His eyes met those of his father, alight with joy. "She likes us all."

For a moment, Gossinger was too startled to reply. Then he caught himself and answered his son with a grin of his own. "Well of course she likes you, Garett. She's got the best big brother in the whole wide galaxy, after all."

Garett beamed with pride, standing a little taller, before asking: "What's her name?"

"Well," Gossinger looked at his wife, who, in turn, was looking at him with her large, entreating eyes. She had on her best puppy-dog face. Gossinger sighed. No matter how long they'd been married, he'd never been able to defend himself against that face.

"Roweena." He told his son.

Garett wrinkled his nose, tasting the name. "Ro. Wee. Na. Roweena. Ro."

The baby squealed, wriggling in her blanket towards the new voice. Garett looked down at her and gently placed his hand over his little sister's heart.

"Welcome, Ro. We love you."

* * *

**Author's note: **And so my story begins. Just so you know, this will be an OC story. Some familiar character from the _Star Wars _storyline will appear, but my focus will remain on my OC's, the Arhen siblings and my ARC trooper.


	2. Chapter 2: 39 BBY

**My previous statement still applies. I own nothing. **

* * *

**The End of One, The Beginning of Another**

"_Here come the blue skies/ Here comes springtime. _

_When the rivers run high & the tears run dry._

_When everything dies._

_Shall rise. _

_LoveLoveLove is stronger than death." _

"_Love is Stronger Than Death" by The The_

* * *

Dantooine, 39 BBY

The rains had come hard and fast this spring.

The excess water had filled the riverbeds and lakes, until usually calm rivers became torrents and lakes attempted to become oceans. For a while, the ground had been able to absorb the water, but soon the wide grasslands and steppe had become overwhelmed. In a matter of days, the lavender and yellow grasses turned brown, drowned where they stood. Rot began to permeate the air, normally dominated by the smells of sweet grass and the blooming crops.

With the ground and local flora no longer able to absorb the water, the end result had been almost unavoidable. Flashfloods.

In one disastrous night, the masses of water, with nowhere left to go, had overwhelmed the embankments. Such was their force and volume, that the floods undermined the few local hills, eating away their foundations, tearing away the topsoil. Mixing and churning, what had been torrents of water turned into gigantic mudslides. Roiling and bubbling like a living thing, gravity had pulled the mudslides into the low valleys where they tore through entire forests of the spiky blba trees. And the small settlements and farms they had protected.

The few cities that existed on Dantooine had actually fared quite well. Their steep walls had managed to keep the worst of the mudslides at bay, though some had cracked and tumbled during the effort. But Dantooine was not a planet of well-protected cities. The locals were farmers by trade, independent and proud of their independence. Many of the farms were separated by kilometers of empty plains and deep forests. There had been no tall walls to protect the people. These smaller farms and settlements had borne the brunt of the catastrophe…and perished under the relentless mud.

Nature could be cruel and she rarely stopped to spare the innocent, once her full might had been unleashed. Even when faced with the terror of a small boy, clinging desperately to the weeping form of his much younger sister, she did not relent. What were tears to nature? What were two small bodies holding on to each other for comfort and protection, when the face of the planet was being undone beneath her violence?

* * *

Arhen farm, 39 BBY

Mace Windu stood at the very edge of solid ground and surveyed the destruction before him. What had once been a collection of five family dwellings, a number of barns and fenced in pastures, had been turned into a treacherous swamp of churned mud, standing water and uprooted vegetation. Here and there, the Jedi Master observed broken wood and canvassing reaching out of the clinging mud, like seeking hands in the hopes of being pulled to safety. There was no sign of the former inhabitants. Caught unawares, most of them must have died in their beds when one of many flashfloods undermined the surrounding hills late at night. The resulting mudslide had left nothing standing and no one alive.

Windu sighed and allowed himself a moment of grief for the lives lost, before letting the feeling flow back into the Force. There was nothing he could do here. The people of this settlement were gone, one now with the Force. There was comfort in that and other people who still needed his aid.

He turned away from the sight of the destruction, walking back to the caravan of speeders, loaded with wounded, the dispossessed and supplies. His driver, a captain of the Dantooine Security Forces, was waiting for him by their speeder. Unlike the Jedi Master, she had remained where the ground was well and truly stable.

"Well?" she asked, even before he had returned to her side. "Anything?" Her eyes rested hopefully on him. "Anyone?"

Windu could only shake his head. He saw and felt her flash of _disappointment_ and _grief_, but they were tempered with _fatigue_ and a deadening sense of _resignation_. This was not the first settlement on their route to have been completely wiped out. They both knew it would not be their last.

"I knew the Arhens," the captain told him, her voice heavy. "Genesa was the best midwife in the Taikaha region. And Gossinger and Larna just had their second child last fall." She looked away from him, eyes fixed on the wide, sweeping plains. "He used to be an Antarian Ranger, you know. Before he met Larna." Her voice broke slightly, but she did not cry. As with most of the inhabitants of Dantooine, her tears had been swept away under the torrential rains.

What could he say in light of this revelation? For a Jedi, death was only a transitory stage, a means of shedding the corporeal skin and merging with the deeper flows of the Force. But few non-Jedi found this ideology a comfort, so all he could do was lay a brief, sympathetic hand on her shoulder and urge the captain onward.

"We still have eight more farms to patrol, we should…" A sudden tug at his Force-senses made him trail off. He turned around sharply, examining once more the ruins of the farmstead.

"Master Windu," the captain asked, "is everything alright?"

He didn't answer her; instead, he returned to his previous position, on the very boundaries of the mudslide. There had been something…

Windu closed his eyes, relaxed his posture and sunk himself deeply into the Force. He sorted through the myriad layers of the Force surrounding Dantooine, touching briefly upon the presence of those in the convoy, before moving on. His awareness swept over the treacherous layers of mud, seeking something: something alive perhaps. Or someone.

There! Out past where the main housing had been, his senses locked onto the presence of another. He breathed in once, then exhaled, letting his conscious mind drift along that breath. _Fear. Hunger. Thirst. Pain. Fatigue. _The emotions came to him, hard and fast and he felt his own body respond to their intensity. But he was a Jedi Master and he controlled his response, letting the strange emotions wash over him without subsuming him at the same time. Whoever was projecting these emotions was young. Young and Force-sensitive and fading.

He didn't waste any more time. With a leap that brought forth astounded exclamations from the others, he propelled himself towards the survivor. Trusting the Force to guide him, he found the most secure and stable areas to place his feet, leaping nimbly from the boughs of a shattered blba tree to the scattered remains of a stone wall, until he found purchase on a broken shingled roof, sticking half-hazardly out of the mud. He looked down at a patch of churned and watery earth before him, then slightly to the left of his position. He reached out his hand and focused.

He was there, the Force-sensitive, beneath thick layers of mud, broken housing and vegetation. Windu reached out again with the Force and, as gently as he could, touched the child's consciousness. He felt the child's presence in the Force waver, _fear _mixing with _surprise _and then desperate _hope. _Then tentative, an answering touch to his questing mind.

Windu centered himself as best he could on the uneven ground and this time, reaching out with both hands, centered his attention on the little patch of earth that held the child prisoner. The child reacted to his focus by reaching out himself, tentative and clumsy, and in the Jedi Master's mind there blossomed an image of sound and smell rather than sight. It was a small, enclosed space – a speeder perhaps – and the air was rank with the smell of foul, stagnant water and decaying plants. There was no light and Windu got the distinct impression that something cold, something _slimy _was pressing against the child, chilling him, crowding him.

Windu understood. Whatever small haven the child had found to survive the initial mudslide in, was now being invaded by the stagnant, muddy earth. He could waste no more time. Sending the child his reassurances through the Force, Windu reached through the mud with his mind and wrapped a protective Force-shield around the small vessel. He inhaled and with the expansion of his lungs, expanded the Force-shield, forcibly pushing the clinging mud away, creating a small bubble. On the following exhale he began to lift.

When the craft emerged from the mud's clinging hold, Windu saw he had been right. It was a speeder, its glass canopy raised and sealed. Breathing deeply to hold its weight, Master Windu used the Force to push the speeder away from the mud and onto solid ground, where the relief team was already waiting.

By the time he had made it back to the caravan, members of the AgriCorps and the DSF were already underway, busily trying to remove the glass canopy. Looking at it, Windu saw that the glass had suffered many minutiae fractures radiating outwards from one central crack, as large as his palm. The canopy, designed to withstand buffeting winds, had not been able to hold against the weight and force of the mudslide. With a worried frown, he could see that some of the mud had made its way into the passenger compartment.

There was a loud _crack! _and the canopy gave way under the rescuers efforts. Carefully, it was lifted. There was the sound of weeping contrasting with cries of joy, as two small forms - muddied, bruised and battered, but gloriously alive - were lifted from the speeder. Master Windu caught his breath as the Force seemed to reverberate with those cries, suddenly blazing with light.

* * *

"Success on Dantooine you've had, Master Windu?" The aged and wizened face of Grand Master Yoda peered at the Korun Jedi. Even through a holovid, that gaze was penetrating.

"Our rescue efforts were successful, in that we were able to find and aid some two hundred survivors. Of course," and here Windu paused, his eyes shadowed with grief. "The death toll is estimated at nearly a thousand."

Yoda nodded in understanding. It was a profound tragedy and a heavy loss for such a scarcely populated planet as Dantooine. Then he said, "But good news you have as well, yes?"

"Indeed, Master. I have found two younglings, both Force-sensitive."

Yoda's ears pricked at the news. "Two?" he asked, a slight note of disbelief in his voice.

"Yes, Master. Two." Windu couldn't quite believe it himself. Force-sensitives were rare, even in a galaxy as large as theirs. To find one was good fortune, to find two, and in the midst of such tragedy, was a stroke of luck. Or the will of the Force. "They are siblings, Master Yoda; a boy and a girl, five and one standard years old, respectively. Garett and Roweena Arhen."

Master Yoda frowned slightly at this information. "Five you say? Old, is he not? Too old, to be a Jedi."

"I know he is older than our usual Initiates, but I believe," and Windu paused again, choosing his words carefully, "that bringing him into the Order now would be better than to leave him on Dantooine. He is strong in the Force, and this catastrophe has brought whatever latent Force-abilities he once possessed to the forefront. He protected himself and his sister by creating a Force-shield strong enough to reinforce the speeder's glass canopy against several kilotons of mud, water and debris. For one so young and untrained in the ways of the Force, he is unusually skilled and controlled. If he is not taken to the Temple for proper training, I fear he might come to abuse that power when he is older."

"A convincing argument, you make. Take then, the boy and bring him to the Temple you will. And the girl?"

Windu shook his head. "The Force is in her, I can tell that much. But she is still too young to determine anything else."

Tapping his gimer stick, the diminutive Jedi Master nodded once, emphatically. "Decided then it is. Bring both children to the Temple you will. Garett and Roweena Arhen, Jedi will be."


	3. Chapter 3: 38 BBY

I have studied the matter closely and have come to the unavoidable conclusion that I still do not own anything.

* * *

**To Dare Great Things**

"_May there be many moments_

_That make your life so sweet._

_Oh, but more than memories_

_I pray that God would fill your heart with dreams_

_And that faith gives you the courage_

_To dare to do great things." _

"_Find Your Wings" by Mark Harris_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 38 BBY

Grand Master Yoda, head of the Jedi Council and leader of the Jedi Order, enjoyed a long walk through the expanse of the Jedi Temple every now and then. It was not just a means of stretching his ancient legs, but also a way to immerse himself within the Force embedded into the ancient stones and pillars. The Temple had stood for so long, had been the home of so many Jedi over the centuries, that it had become a nexus for the Force: a living, breathing emblem to the light.

Walking down the venerable halls, leaning on his gimer stick, the ancient Jedi breathed with the Temple, became a part of it and let his conscious mind float through its stillness as easily as he let it flow through the Force. It was a peaceful experience, with other Jedi, Padawan, Knight or Master, respecting his solitary walk by keeping their voices lowered when he made his slow way past them.

He was therefore completely unprepared to have this stillness and solitude shattered by a sudden ruckus.

"_**Roweena**, _get back here you little imp!"

The indignant cry was followed by a girl's high and clear laugh and the quick patter of bare feet on the marbled floor.

Yoda turned the corner into the wing housing the younglings, the Temple's youngest members…and was nearly run over by a small figure. The venerable Jedi Master had a quick impression of very pale blond hair and mischievous teal eyes, before the youngling tripped over her own feet and tumbled end over teakettle in her effort to avoid a collision.

Reacting quickly, Yoda reached out with the Force and caught the youngling, slowing and cushioning her fall, before gently setting her on her rump onto the stone floor. The youngling gave a squeak, then stared at him, mouth agape and eyes wide in amazement at both his skill and, he supposed, her avoidance of a nasty tumble.

"Roweena, wait till I…oh." The pursuing adult, Master Du Mahn, came to as nearly an abrupt, though far more graceful, halt as her charge. "Ma-Master Yoda," she stuttered, her blue eyes nearly as big as those of the little girl, though her expression was one of consternation and acute embarrassment, rather than wonder.

Yoda leaned on his gimer stick and with a patient eye took in the two Humans. The little girl, Roweena he presumed, was dressed in nothing more than her underthings and the fine, blond mass of hair atop her head was a snarled and tangled mess. She was also covered in paint from head to toe. Yoda counted at least five, no seven, different shades of blue, green and purple on the little Human's skin. A solitary blotch of orange over her right eye was doing an excellent job of highlighting the girl's own unusual eyes, which were still firmly fixed on Yoda.

Turning his attention to Du Mahn, the Grand Master couldn't keep a slight smile of amusement from lighting his face. Du Mahn, usually a very dignified and contained person, was out of breath from the impromptu chase. Her cheeks were flushed and strands of brown hair were escaping their confinement from beneath the hood she always wore. And, like her charge, she was completely covered in splotches, smears and streaks of colours that contrasted rather wildly with the sedate brown and beige of her Jedi robes.

It did not come as a surprise to Yoda, that it was Roweena who broke the silence first.

"Fun! Do it 'gain." There was laughter in her voice and she quickly got back up on her feet, chubby legs – one blue, the other lavender and green - wobbling a little as she tried to keep her balance on the slippery floor.

Du Mahn, seeing her opportunity, leapt at the child with all the agility and grace of a Corellian sand panther pouncing on its prey. Quickly, she gathered the little girl up into her arms, before Roweena could take off again. The girl gave an indignant shout at this restriction to her movements and began to wiggle and twist in the caretaker's arms. Together, they looked to Yoda like crashing, and clashing, waves of colour.

"Painting the younglings did today, yes?"

"Oh…ah…yes, Master Yoda. Yes we did," Du Mahn answered, her words a little less dignified then normal, as she tried to regain her composure and control over the little Human girl.

"There was, uhm, an **incident** with the paints and…" she was cut off as Roweena, in her attempt to free herself of Du Mahn's restraining arms, ended up upside down, her little legs kicking frenetically at the older woman's face. Righting the girl, Du Mahn continued, "I was just about to give Roweena a bath when she…"

"No!" The girl cut off the Jedi Master with the forceful negative. "No. Ro no bath. No."

Yoda's eyes opened wide as the Force suddenly vibrated with feelings of _outrage, refusal, impatience _and, just a little, _fear._ So the girl was an empath.

Coming closer to the still struggling pair, Yoda answered the girl with _patience, acceptance_ and _calm, _while tapping his gimer stick once for emphasis. It worked. As soon as she felt his emotions sliding over hers like a soothing blanket, Roweena stopped twisting about. In fact, she became as absolutely still as the marble surrounding them, her teal eyes now completely focused on the diminutive Jedi. They were eye-to-eye, he standing, she half-kneeling in Du Mahn's lap. Yoda felt _curiosity _and _familiarity, _as if this were a game she had played before, but could only dimly remember. He answered in kind, sending her _acknowledgement _and _recognition. _

If possible, Roweena's eyes widened even further and her mouth formed a perfect little 'o' of astonishment. Then she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, a look of concentration coming over her colourful face. Yoda felt her struggle to grasp this elusive new power and he opened himself to the little girl, becoming receptive to whatever she was trying to tell him through the Force.

An image came to his mind; it wavered and sometimes blurred out of focus, like a holotransmission during an ion storm. Slowly, it crystallized into a face. For a moment, Yoda thought Roweena had sent him an image of herself. The eyes were the same as was the hair, but the child in this Force-vision was older, six or seven standard years at least, and male. A brother, he guessed, judging by the close family resemblance. In this mental image, the boy was smiling brightly and Yoda got the impression of deep _love _and _caring, _from both the boy and the little girl; her eyes still shut tight in her mental effort. He also came to understand that it was this boy Roweena had been seeking, when she had dared her escape from Du Mahn's kindly supervision.

Yoda looked up from the girl and towards Du Mahn. "A brother she has, yes? A youngling in the Temple he is."

Du Mahn, who had been watching the silent exchange with her eyes and through the Force, nodded quickly. "Yes. His name is Garett. Garett Arhen. He's an Initiate in the Dragon Clan. They are the siblings that Master Windu found on Dantooine."

Yoda made an assenting noise. "Remember, I do." He looked again at the little girl, who was studying him very carefully now. Her head was cocked just a little to the side, pale bangs drifting into her eyes. In turn, Yoda twitched his long ears in her direction. As if drawn, her eyes followed the movement, staying fixed on the appendages. "Quite a handful she appears to be."

Du Mahn sighed. "Master Yoda, you have no idea."

As if to prove the older woman's point, Roweena launched herself from the Jedi Master's now lax grip…and straight towards Master Yoda. Before either Master could react, Roweena had one arm around Master Yoda, hugging him close. With the other, she reached up and….tugged at one of the Grand Master's ears.

Then she was off again, running down the hallway, the horrified cry of _"**Roweena**!" _from Master Du Mahn echoing from the stones along with her own delighted laughter.


	4. Chapter 4: 36 BBY

Let me think about this for a second...No. Still don't own a thing.

* * *

**A Leap and a Jump **

"_You'll be my favorite creature/ And here's the reason why:_

_Your eyes are bright, your feet are swift/ Your ears hear round the bend_

_But your very simple humbleness/ Will steal the hearts of men. _

_Together we shall thwart the pains/ The gods do throw to earth_

_And turn aside their fiery darts/ With merriment and mirth."_

"_Rabbit's Song" by S. J. Tucker_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 36 BBY

Ro was so excited she could hardly keep still. In fact, she wasn't very still at all. Bouncing and hopping in place, she was eagerly awaiting her turn to be introduced to one of the adult Jedi milling around the youngling's schoolroom. Today was the day. Today, she would finally be assigned to one of the Initiates Clans, just like Garett. Maybe, they'd even get to be in the same clan. The thought was so exciting, that she just had to pirouette in place.

"Roweena, please calm down," Du Mahn admonished her. "This is no way for a Jedi to act."

Ro stopped spinning, her pigtails briefly slapping her cheeks from the abrupt stop. "Ro." She said firmly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ro," she repeated. "I like Ro. It rhymes."

"Rhymes with what?" Du Mahn asked her, clearly not understanding the youngling's train of thought. Not an uncommon phenomenon when conversing with the little girl.

"Everything." Ro said, and waved her arms about as if trying to underline her point by this all-encompassing gesture. "It rhymes with know and show and bow,"

"And toe," interrupted a strange voice.

Both Du Mahn and Ro turned to the stranger. He was male, a Zabrak, the dark skin of his face broken by the intricate tattoos of his people.

Ro grinned at him in delight and echoed his words. "And toe."

The Zabrak grinned back, his teeth dazzlingly white against his darker skin. Ro was instantly mesmerized. Shiny things had that kind of power over her.

The Zabrak knelt to be at eyelevel with her. Still smiling he asked, "So little girl with the name that rhymes with everything, do you know why I'm here?"

Ro's breath hitched. "I know, I know," she answered eagerly. "I get a clan."

"That's right. Today, we'll see if we can't find the perfect clan for you. And will you study hard to be a good Jedi?"

"Yes, yes." She clapped her hands together in her eagerness. "I'll study hard. I'll be the bestes Jedi ever."

The Zabrak shot Du Mahn an amused look. "Quite the little bundle of energy, isn't she?"

"Yes," Du Mahn answered wryly. "Like a sun going nova, except the particles never begin collapsing into themselves." Then she turned stern eyes on Ro. "Now Roweena, please. Contain yourself. You don't see the others behaving in such a manner, now do you?"

Ro stopped moving in place, reigned in rather by the _disapproval _she felt from Du Mahn, then by her words. Guiltily, she looked around the schoolroom. Du Mahn was right. The other younglings were excited as well; she simply knew that. But none of them were bouncing or spinning or twirling or doing anything more active than talking to each other. And even this was done in hushed tones and not exuberant outbursts. Some of the other adults visiting today were even looking at her, their expressions varying from frowning disapproval like Du Mahn's, to mild curiosity.

Suddenly drawing into herself, Ro took a hold of one of her pigtails, chewing its end nervously before turning to Du Mahn. "Sorry," she said, her voice now small. Aware she had misbehaved and ashamed because of it, but not quite sure why her actions were 'misbehaving'. She was just excited, because it was a special day and she had wanted to become a big girl so she could see Garett more often, and maybe be in his clan with him and…

Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. Du Mahn, startled by the girl's reaction to her scolding – Ro practically never cried – knelt by the girl and gently took her into her arms. "Now, now," she said, patting Ro's back and rocking her a little. "There's no need for tears, Roweena. No one's angry with you. It's perfectly alright to get excited, just not to get carried away. You'll learn that with your clan and you like learning, don't you."

Ro sniffled a bit, face pressed against Master's Du Mahn's sensibly clad shoulder. "Yes." The reply was a little watery, but far from actual crying.

"There now, that's a good girl." Du Mahn gave her back another rub, then gently turned Ro so she was facing the Zabrak Master again.

"Now, why don't you give Master Kynte a smile? Remember, today is a special day."

Ro looked back at Master Kynte, feeling suddenly shy, but managing to give him a wavering smile. The Zabrak Master answered her with a smile of his own. "Master Du Mahn is right Ro. Today is special, so no tears, alright?"

Ro's nature was too ebullient for her to stay glum for long, and Master Kynte's gentle encouragement was enough to bring most of her high spirits back. Her smile strengthened and widened. "Okay-dokay," and she started to bounce, just a little, on her toes.

Master Du Mahn rolled her eyes heaven wards, as if beseeching the Force and whatever higher deities might be listening for help. The child was incorrigible.

Master Kynte placed his big hands on Ro's shoulders, nearly engulfing the little girl. Gently, he applied some pressure, keeping her in place for the moment.

"I need you to remain still Ro, just for a little while, okay?"

"'Kay," she said and stilled under his hands.

"That's good. Now, can you look into my eyes Ro? Just look into my eyes and I'll do the rest."

Ro wanted to question to him, she was nearly bursting with questions, but did as she was told. She looked into Master Kynte's deep, brown eyes and as his met hers fully, Ro froze in wonder. There were stars in Master Kynte's eyes. Big and beautiful stars, like the ones in some of her very favorite holobooks. And she was there too. Among the stars swirling in Master Kynte's eyes, Ro saw her own face reflected back at her. Except, it wasn't her. That Ro had no pigtails, no chubby cheeks. The Ro in Master Kynte's eyes had very long hair that fell into her laughing eyes and a slim face, lips upturned in a grin. Ro realized with a start, that this was her, only older. This was Ro as a big girl.

Master Kynte blinked and the stars, along with the image of herself as an adult, vanished. Ro reeled a little from the sudden release from the vision and when she looked next into the Zabrak's eyes, they were merely brown. A very nice, very kind brown to be sure, but no stars and no big Ro.

"The Squall Clan." Master Kynte said to Du Mahn. "I believe she will do very well there."

"The Squall Clan," Du Mahn echoed and smiled. "How very fitting."

Ro looked from one adult to the other, frowning. But Garett was in the Dragon Clan. "What's a squall?" she asked.

"A squall," Du Mahn answered her, "is a small, fur-covered lagomorph native to Chandrila."

Ro blinked, uncomprehending. "What's a-a lagma-morph?"

Master Kynte chuckled. "A lagamorph is a big word for a very small bunny."

Ro's teal eyes widened in delight. "A bunny? I getta be a bunny-rabbit?"

"That's right, Ro. You get to be a bunny-rabbit. Squall's are known for their agility and swiftness." Seeing the girl puzzling over the words, Kynte explained, "Squall's are very good at hopping."

Ro let out a delighted laugh, all of her earlier disappointments and troubles forgotten. "Hop, hop, hop. I getta hop, hop, hop." And she did, excitedly hopping and bouncing in a circle, the two adults, caught up in her jubilance, smiling indulgently at the girl.

Then Du Mahn turned sly eyes towards Master Kynte and whispered, "Squall's are also the biggest traffic trouble and stowaways on all of Chandrila. And no one does a thing, because they are too cute for their own good."

Master Kynte suppressed a laugh with difficulty. "Well, I did sense she would fit right in."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I think I should explain a few things here. First off, no Ro is not crazy, but she does suffer a little bit from mood swings. As said in the previous chapter, Ro is an empath, capable of feeling, responding to and even manipulating other people's feelings. As such, she is easily affected by the general ambiance of a crowded room and, as explained in the Old Republic novel _Deceived_ by Paul S. Kemp, an empath tends to feel things rather keenly. Add to that a generally cheerful disposition and a tendency for being hyper and you get the energizer bunny on a sugar rush.


	5. Chapter 5: 35 BBY

*Sigh* I'm gonna have to say it, don't I? I. Don't. Own. Anything. Now please excuse me, I have to go sit in a corner and eat a tub of ice cream.

* * *

**Among the Stars**

"_Wanna swing from a star in the big blue sky_

_Don't wanna watch it all go by,_

_So I'm gonna fly_

_And see for myself what it looks like from up there_

_Taste the stardust in my mouth, chase the clouds until they disappear." _

"_I'm Gonna Fly" by Sidney Forest_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 35 BBY

Though he couldn't see through the blindfold, Garett moved through the room with ease, gracefully avoiding the other Initiates, as well as the light blasts from the training remotes.

His Initiate Clan, the Dragons, was currently involved in a friendly competition with the Katarn Clan. Five members of each clan were to face off against each other, each trying to deflect or avoid the blasts from the four training remotes hovering over them. The clan with the last member standing won. And to make it more interesting, each Initiate was wearing a blindfold.

Garett slid a half step to the side, avoiding the shot of one remote, while doing a quarter-turn to deflect the shot from a second remote. He did it easily, unthinkingly, his breathing even and controlled. His mind was perfectly balanced; not focused so much on winning, as on completing a task correctly. The Force flowed through him like a placid river and he let it guide his movements, trusting his inner sense and balance.

He ducked, swung, ducked a second time. There was a gasp from the rapt crowd as he tucked himself into a roll to avoid the rather wild swing of one of the other contestants. Not that he would have been seriously injured if the blow had connected. You couldn't actually kill or maim someone with a training lightsaber as you could with a regular one. But the blow would have stung nonetheless and would have caused considerable embarrassment for both Initiates. At almost ten, both boys were too old for such accidents.

He came out of the roll in time to deflect two simultaneous shots from a remote, sending them back to their point of origin and thereby deactivating the remote. The crowd clapped in approval, some of the younger Initiates cheering wildly. It was the second remote Garett had disarmed. Among the cheers, Garett could clearly hear his sister Ro, her shouts of encouragement louder than most. He could also feel her: her sense of _pride, wonder, _and _joy _as she watched him outperform all the other Initiates of his age group.

He executed a backwards flip, slashing his lightsaber at a remote during the apex of his arc. The slash didn't destroy the remote, but deactivated it like the others. He landed firmly back on his feet, lightsaber at the ready, to the enthusiastic roar of approval from the crowd. His sister was squealing in delight, clapping her hands together and, he had not doubt, jumping up and down like a true squall.

Garett took a moment to take stock of the situation, drawing on the Force to get a sense of his surroundings. The Force whispered back to him, painting in his minds-eye a landscape similar to what Garett thought bats saw through their sonar. It was a world of dim, silvery outlines, more the essence of people and things than their actual contours. Besides him, only one other Initiate was still in the competition. Garett recognized the Force-signature of one of the members of the Katarn Clan: a Twi'lek boy with yellow skin and a haughty attitude.

Garett sensed the approach of the last remote, it's flight path erratic. It fired multiple shots at the same time, causing the two boys to scatter in opposite directions. The remote positioned itself between them, keeping them occupied with simultaneous attacks. Garett understood its intent. The remote had observed how the others had been taken down and, programmed to be self-learning it had adjusted accordingly. By keeping itself between the two Initiates, neither one could accurately deflect the remote's shots back at it for fear of hitting the other if the remote avoided the blast. Nor could they use leaps or flips like Garett had done, for the same reason. The other boy would always be in the way.

_Clever, _he thought. This would devolve into a standstill, with neither side being able to gain the upper hand. Garett and the Twi'lek couldn't move, and neither could the remote.

_This will never do. _Garett trusted the Force. It had seen him through the worst time of his still short life and he knew it would see him through all the years to come. So he did not hesitate to surrender his being to the Force now, to give up conscious thought and let the Force guide his movements.

He abandoned the wide, sweeping motions of Shii-Cho; his swings became tighter, more controlled, the blade of his lightsaber now in a near constant motion. Though he did not know it at the time, Garett seamlessly transitioned from Form I to Form III, utilizing the Soresu's tight motions to his advantage, as he closed in on the remote.

The remote, alerted to this change of tactics, began to focus more of its blasts on Garett, as the boy began to move in, steadily closing the distance. Garett didn't think, he simply moved, never stopping or hesitating in-between the swings of his lightsaber. He was fully in the grips of the Force, his world a landscape of black and silver lines moving against each other and it was glory.

The Force guided him towards the remote, the machine peppering him now with almost frantic, random shots. It couldn't move from its position for fear of giving the Twi'lek an opening for an attack.

Garett suddenly deactivated his lightsaber, threw himself to the ground and rolled under the remote. The remote, suddenly bereft of one target, had to focus its attention now on the Twi'lek as the other boy, perhaps sensing its confusion, redoubled his own efforts. Garett came to a halt on his back and, reactivating his lightsaber, touched the remote's underbelly with the tip; a thrust so controlled it did no more than deactivate the machine, reducing it to a tranquilly hovering sphere.

The room erupted into wild cheers. Straightening, Garett removed his blindfold, seeing the last of the remotes gently and placidly hovering in the air before him. The Twi'lek boy stood on its opposite side, a sullen look on his face, before grinning ruefully. "Nice job, Dragon."

Garett grinned back and bowed. "You too, Katarn." Both boys smiled at each other and then Garett was nearly bowled over by his little sister. Ro was hugging him enthusiastically, telling him how great, how wonderful, how absolutely _awesome _he'd been and that he was quite smelly and should take a shower…

"Very nicely done, Initiate Arhen." Ro's stream of words was abruptly cut off by the deep voice. The siblings turned to see Master Eeth Koth standing before them, hands clasped behind his back. Garett quickly peeled Ro off of him and gave the Council member a deep bow of respect. "Thank you Master Koth. Such praise coming from you means a lot." He elbowed Ro in the side and the girl closed her mouth and quickly copied his actions, bowing in turn.

"I think the Order can expect great things from you one day, Initiate Arhen. Keep up the good work." And as quickly as he had come, the Jedi Master was gone again.

"Wow," Ro whispered, awe clearly in her voice. Garett couldn't blame her; he felt the same way. But of course a little thing such as praise from one of the most respected members of the High Council was not enough to rattle Ro for long. Eyes shining with excitement, she tugged at the sleeve of his robe.

"C'mon Garett. Gotta show you something. It's the perfect place to celebrate."

* * *

Garett stood next to his sister, waiting expectantly.

"Well?" he asked her. Ro shushed him. "Just wait, 'kay. It'll be great."

They were standing in one of the larger teaching rooms, its walls covered with diagrams and pictures of various planets and their indigenous flora and fauna. The room was quiet and empty. Garett looked back at Ro, who was studying the room in slight puzzlement.

"It's not doing it." She said, sounding rather cross and disappointed.

"Not doing what, Ro?"

"The stars." She exclaimed in dismay. "It was full of stars before."

Garett, more practiced than most in following his sister's often erratic train of thought, suddenly understood why Ro had dragged him to the teaching room. With understanding came realization and Garett said: "You were here for an astronomy lesson and the holoprojector was on."

Ro stared at him, flabbergasted. "Holoprojector?" she asked, before her shoulders slumped in defeat. "You've seen it before."

"Course I have, Ro. I had the same classes as you a couple of years ago. I had my first astronomy lessons here, too."

"Oh." Ro sounded utterly crushed. "I wanted to show you all the pretty stars."

Garett hated to see his sister like this. Ro was normally such a happy child, that seeing her sad or depressed caused his heart to ache.

"Well, we can still do that," he told her and marched determinately up to the holoprojector in the middle of the room. Looking over its controls for a moment, Garett pushed a few buttons, selecting the program Ro had most probably been shown during her class. The room was plunged for a moment into darkness and Garett heard Ro's sudden sharp intake of breath, felt stabs of _fear, _before tiny pinpricks of light emerged from the darkness.

The two children sat in the middle of the floor, watching as thousands of stars rotate slowly around them. Even Garett, who had seen this holoprojection before, had to admit it was a pretty awe-inspiring sight. Ro leaned against him, her eyes avidly watching the tiny specks of light.

"Pretty." She said and Garett agreed. "You're like that, Garett." He looked down at her in surprise, but she was still watching the stars. "I am?" he asked, a little stunned.

She nodded, completely transfixed and at ease. "Yeah. Saw it today, in the dojo. You blaze." Here she turned her attention on her brother, her eyes full of artificial starlight and adoration. "You shine, Garett."

Garett didn't know what to say in light of this revelation, but Ro didn't need an answer. She turned back to watching the stars, lost in thought. "I wanna go there," she said, her declaration as out of the blue as her earlier comment. "You wanna go too, Garett?"

Garett lifted a hand, watched as one of the stars dissolved into tiny particles as it met his fingers, only to coalesce again once it had passed through. "Yeah," he breathed. "I want to go see the stars, too."

"Then we'll go," she said, her voice full of conviction. "We'll fly together. And Garett?"

"Yeah?"

Her teal eyes turned to meet his. "You smell like old socks."

Garett rolled his own teal eyes towards the artificial heavens. _Little sisters. _


	6. Chapter 6: 34 BBY

_Star Wars _belongs to George Lucas. I am not him.

* * *

**Kindness and Compassion**

"_For you know, once even I was a _

_little child, and I was afraid_

_but a gentle someone always came_

_to dry all my tears, trade sweet sleep for fears_

_and to give a kiss goodnight." _

"_Lullaby for a Stormy Night" by Vienna Teng_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 34 BBY

_The darkness had caught her. She thrashed and struggled, trying to free herself from its grip. But the darkness was sticky; it clung to her like cold sweat, like a second skin. It was slimy and cold and it pressed against her. _

_She opened her mouth to scream, to call out for help, but the darkness flooded over her face. It slid into her nose, her mouth. It made its slow, excruciating way down her throat. It meant to smother her, to drown her in its oily essence. _

_She tried to claw her way out, to tear the darkness from her, but it stuck to her stubbornly. She cried then. She was all alone in the dark. _

Ro woke with a sudden start, her mouth open in preparation to scream, as her dream-self had not been able to. Her hands flew to her mouth and held the scream in, keeping it locked behind her lips. She looked around frantically. Her small room was dark, completely dark. Her nightlight, the little heart-shaped illuminator she kept on her nightstand, had gone out.

Ro shook with terror, her hair clinging to her face in wet, sweat-soaked strands. There were tears on her face. She had to get out. She had to leave this dark place right now, this very instant. She had to find the light.

And for Ro, there was only one place to go.

* * *

Despite the late hour, Garett was awake. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, his hands resting on his knees, the boy meditated. He had a lot to think about and meditation helped him sort through his thoughts.

So much had happened these past few months. Master Eeth Koth had selected him as a Padawan, though Garett was only ten. He was still unused to the weight and feel of his new Padawan braid, but he was coming to enjoy it. Master Koth was a renowned lightsaber dualist and already Garett had learned more about lightsaber combat than he ever could have dreamed of. And he was allowed to accompany Master Koth on some of his missions. The privilege made him stand a little taller every time his new Master called to meet him in the hangar.

But there were other lessons as well, lessons about the Jedi Code and it were these lessons that caused the boy to remain awake this night, trying to sort through his feelings.

"_A Jedi eschews all forms of attachment. Attachment clouds the judgment and distracts from duty. Attachment can lead to fear, hate and jealousy, which are the first steps to the dark side." _

Garett breathed in and out, in and out, to the steady rhythm of his heart. Master Koth's words echoed in his mind. His Master was a firm believer in the Code and had chosen today to discuss this particular aspect of it with his young Padawan. Because there was one rather significant attachment in Garett's life, one most of the other Padawans never had to concern themselves with.

"_A Jedi is the living instrument of the Force. We are servants of the Force. It is a great honor to be chosen as such and to be worthy of this honor we must dedicate ourselves completely to our duty. There can be no distractions in a Jedi's life." _

No distractions. No attachments. A Jedi's life was one of dedication, duty and responsibility.

He breathed in the words, let them soak into his being, then released them with his next breath; out, into the air and into the Force.

Sudden _terror _pierced his consciousness, made his mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes flew open and he hectically scanned his small room for the source of his fright, even as his skin broke out in goosebumps as something oily seemed to slither over it. But of course, the room was empty except for his bed, nightstand, desk and closet. The candle on his nightstand flickered, as if agitated by a sudden breeze. It cast weird shadows on the walls, but Garett didn't notice. His attention was drawn back to the Force. Ro. Of course it would be his little sister; it had to be. There was no one else in the Temple, not even Master Koth, with whom he shared a deeper bond than with her. A bond deep and strong enough to let him become aware of her every mood and well-being.

_Talk about problems of attachment, _he thought sourly. He knew of course what the problem was. Ro had had another one of her nightmares. Or rather, she'd had **the **nightmare. It was always the same, some nameless darkness trying to drown her. Garett rubbed at his temples. He also knew what would happen next and it had nothing to do with Force-visions.

Sure enough, a few minutes later there was a hesitant knock on his door. For a moment, Garett considered simply ignoring the knock and going back to his meditation. He couldn't do that though and not just because Ro didn't deserve it. She would probably start crying and wake the entire Temple.

Wearily, he got up and palmed open his door. As expected, Ro stood in the hallway before his room, feet bare, her nightdress damp at the collar with sweat, her long blond hair a gnarled mess. _She should really get that cut, _he thought and tucked self-consciously at his own, neatly kept Padawan braid.

"You can't keep doing this Ro." He told her.

She sniffled, watery teal eyes looking up at him, pleadingly. "Please Garett, can I come in?"

"No Ro, you can't." He forced himself to remain firm. "It's late and you should be asleep. In your own bed."

Her bottom lip began to tremble and new tears came to her eyes. "I can't Garett. It's dark."

"Of course it's dark Ro, it's after midnight."

Ro hunched her shoulders, as if afraid he'd might hit her. "Why are you being so mean Garett?"

Garett rubbed at his temples again, trying very hard not to feel as if he were kicking a puppy, trying to block out the emotions coming off of his sister. "I'm not being mean Ro. I'm being practical. It's late and you shouldn't be wandering through the Temple at this hour, let alone by yourself."

"But Garett," her voice was starting to waver and rise in pitch. "The dream…."

"Was just that Ro, a dream. And keep your voice down, or you'll wake Master Koth." He quickly eyed the door next to his, testing the Force to see if the apartment's occupant was awake. No, he could only sense the presence of a sleeping mind. Garett wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he needed was Master Koth coming to investigate and finding Ro in front of his Padawan's room. Especially after their little talk today.

"Garett, please. Pretty please. Just this once. My nightlight went out and I-I can't…" Her voice hiccupped a little and she came closer, tugging at his sleeve pleadingly.

Garett looked down at his little sister and regarded her carefully; the teal eyes so like his own, now bloodshot and red-rimmed from little sleep and crying, the pale skin and red blotches on her cheeks, her runny, red nose. He resolved to remain firm. He would not give in. It was for the best, for both of them. He extracted his sleeve from his sister's frantic fingers and literally held her at arms length.

"I want you to listen to me, Ro and I want you to listen very carefully. No. No, you can't come in here and sleep in my bed tonight. No, you can't keep coming to me every time you have a nightmare. You're six years old now Ro and learning how to be a Jedi. A Jedi cannot keep crying and loosing sleep over a single nightmare. A Jedi has to be strong in order to do his duty and that means finding the strength to deal with his problems **on his own**. That means without a big brother and without a nightlight. Just like the other Initiates. You don't see any of them standing late at night in front of other people's doors, crying to be let in, do you?"

Ro was looking at him now as if she'd never seen him before. As if he were some big, two-headed monster that had just bitten off the head of her favorite stuffed toy. More tears were running down her face now, dripping off of her chin and onto the floor. He felt like the biggest creep in the Core, but this had to be done and done now.

"You're a big girl Ro and I want you to start acting like one, do you understand?"

There was a long, drawn-out sniff, then she wiped both sleeves of her nightgown over her eyes. She nodded, looking fixedly at her bare feet. "Yes, Garett," she whispered and Garett tried very hard to ignore how utterly _crushed_ she felt at that moment.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. _Garett drew the words around him like a protective shield. _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. A Jedi can't afford attachments. _

"Good," he said and was pleased to find his voice sounded very grown-up. "Now go to bed, Ro. Goodnight."

"'Night," came the whispered reply and Garett watched as his sister shuffled back down the hallway to the Initiates wing, hugging herself as if for dear life. Or comfort.

Garett closed the door behind him and settled himself once more on his bed. He was sure that he had handled the situation to his Master's satisfaction. He had placed reason over attachment and had, in the process, freed Ro from the same restraints. _This is for the best. _He repeated his earlier thought and crossed his legs once more, placing his palms on his knees. They both needed to learn to function without the other. They were Jedi and being a Jedi came before being either a brother or a sister.

Through their Force-connection, Garett could feel Ro's _apprehension _and _fear _as she reentered her dark room and stumblingly found her way back to bed. He grit his teeth and concentrated on his meditation, trying to ignore his sister's distress, even as she tried to be a big girl and keep it from him.

* * *

Ro huddled under her blanket. Her fist in her mouth, she tried to stifle the sobs. She wanted to be a big girl, just like Garett had told her to be, but it was so dark and she was just so very afraid. Jedi weren't supposed to be afraid. Jedi were supposed to be big and brave, just like Garett, but at this moment, Ro had never felt smaller or more scared. The nightmare haunted her even now and she pulled the blanket tighter over herself. It was dark under the blanket, but it was a good dark, a small dark. The bad dark was out there, outside of her little blanket cave and when it came for her, she didn't want to see it.

There was a nearly silent _swish_ as the door to her room opened, then the mattress of her bed dipped as something heavy came to rest on it. Ro nearly screamed in terror, but a hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice calmed her.

"Shush, Ro. It's just me."

"Garett," his name was nearly a cry, as she crawled from beneath her blanket and flung herself at her big brother.

"It's okay Ro. I'm here." He readjusted the blanket around them and Ro cuddled up to her brother, feeling safe and warm. Garett reached past her head and put something on her nightstand. A small light illuminated the otherwise dark room. Ro smiled. It was a small illuminator stick, the kind found in every survival pack. The kind most Jedi carried with them on their missions.

Garett too closed his eyes, his arms around his little sister. He knew that what Master Koth had said was right. A Jedi could not have attachments. But a Jedi could be kind, and he could be compassionate.


	7. Chapter 7: 32 BBY

I've been told that I don't need to put a disclaimer on top of every chapter and I believe that. I really do. *eyes shift around nervously* Okay, gotta go. Bye. *slams the door shut. Hear sound of many locks turning* Copyright can be so mean.

* * *

**Flying with Stubby Wings**

"_A case of mistaken opportunity_

_I guess I really got it wrong_

_Identity is insignificant_

_Or is it everything?" _

"_Disappointed" by Face to Face_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 32 BBY

Ro was having a staring contest with a ball and she was loosing. Badly.

_C'mon, stupid thing, move. _She glared at it. _Move, move, move. _She glared at it even harder. It didn't move.

Ro let out a frustrated sigh and looked about to check the progress of her fellow Squalls. About twelve of them, Divo and Makare in the thick of it –_ figures_ – were engaged in some kind of game, which involved throwing their balls at each other, while trying to catch those coming at you. All without using your hands.

Ro looked back at her own ball, sitting complacently about a foot away from her. It was an ordinary ball, no different from those the others were using. It was made of rubber, hollow inside, blue on the top, green on the bottom. Or green on the top and blue on the bottom depending on the angle you looked at it. You never could quite tell with balls, being round and all. But the point was that hers wasn't moving while the others were throwing theirs in the air like it was nothing. Like it came naturally. Like they had the Force.

Ro cast another look at them. The game seemed to have intensified and even those who hadn't played earlier, Inia and Tobe and Shashoolee for example, were now beginning to participate. They were having fun, while she was still standing in the middle of the dojo trying to get her ball to move. Or even twitch. She wasn't greedy. She'd take a twitch any time. Right now, she'd even be grateful for it.

She stared down at her ball, trying to suppress tears of frustration. _Move, _she thought at it. _Move or bounce or roll over, I don't care. Just do something. _

Her mounting frustration must have become palpable for the next thing she heard was the shuffling of old feet, and the _tap-tap-tap _of a walking stick against the polished wooden floor of the dojo.

"Having some trouble are we, hm?" Master Tera Sinube, their teacher for the day, stretched out his long neck at her, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to focus them on her.

"It's not doing anything." She told him, trying very hard, and nearly succeeding, to keep the petulance out of her voice.

"Not doing anything, hm? Seems to me it's doing plenty. It's sitting there perfectly still, waiting for someone to do something with it. That's quite a lot, considering were talking about a ball here, don't you think so?"

Ro stared at the wizened Jedi, distracted from her troubles momentarily by this rather strange ramble. "It's…what?"

"Waiting." He told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. "Waiting for you to tell it what it's supposed to do. And doing it rather patiently, I might add."

"But I have been telling it what to do." Ro defended herself.

"Really? Sounds to me as if all you've done so far is stand here and expect your ball to do all the hard work."

Ro blushed, feeling very much chastised. "Can you help me, Master Sinube? I mean…can you show me how I tell my ball what it should do?"

Master Sinube looked inordinately pleased, a smile stretching the length of his rather long beak. "Of course youngling, that's what I'm here for, after all."

He shuffled next to her, then put both hands on his walking stick, leaning forwards a little to look at her more directly. "Now, first thing first youngling. Take a deep breath…very good, just like that…now breathe out…good, good…very nice breath control."

Ro peeked at him from beneath her bangs. He was funny.

Master Sinube tapped his walking stick imperiously, mock glaring at her. "Now close your eyes youngling and no peeking."

Ro did as she was told, carefully keeping up her breathing, while listening to Master Sinube's instructions. She did it just like he told her to, carefully recreating the dojo in her mind. She pictured its walls and windows, then the floor and the ceiling. She pictured herself standing in the dojo, her ball at her feet. She imagined its smoothness, the bright colors of its surface, the way it could bounce if someone only gave it a little push. Then slowly and carefully, she pictured her imaginary ball beginning to lift from the ground. She imagined it rising in the air until it hovered at eyelevel with her. She kept that image firmly in her mind, adding to it her desire for it to come true. Master Sinube told her, speaking softly so as not to break her concentration, that this was the key to using the Force. You had to want it. More than anything in the world, she had to want her ball to hover at this very moment. That was easy for Ro, because it was true. More than anything, she wanted to join the other Initiates in their game.

And she did feel something. Garett had always told her that when he used the Force, it felt like water flowing through him and around him. Like being carried on a river, while being a part of that river. But it didn't feel like water to Ro. No, the sensation was softer, smoother and…ticklish. It felt like thousands upon thousands of tiny feathers brushing against her skin, making her shiver in delight.

Ro calmly opened her eyes, sure she would find her ball hovering right where she had pictured it would. It had to be. She had felt the Force, knew she had used the Force. There was no doubt of that. But when she opened her eyes, the ball wasn't where she had expected it to be. Looking back at her feet, she could see her ball, no bigger than the palm of her hand, trembling and shivering slightly. It looked like somebody were running feathers down its skin as well, but otherwise, it was still her ball, still sitting where it had been placed by Master Sinube at the start of the lesson. It hadn't worked.

Ro looked at the Cosian Jedi Master, hoping for an explanation, but Master Sinube was staring at her ball as well, a contemplative look on his face.

"Did I do it wrong?" she asked, hoping, absurdly, that he would say yes.

"No," Master Sinube said slowly. "No, you did it just right. Very good visualization even. Hmmm." He raised his eyes from the ball to her and Ro could see he was examining her now as carefully as he had the ball earlier. There was something in his eyes, something she couldn't quite identify.

"Well, nothing worth having ever came easy, youngling. Just keep working on it. Patience, that's the key to almost everything, you know." He smiled at her and Ro smiled back at him, but it felt off. Master Sinube was full of kindness, but that other thing was there as well and it made her nervous.

As the other children of her clan continued their game, Ro remained in her part of the dojo, resolutely trying to get her ball to do more than shiver and twitch on the spot. She struggled against her own feelings of _frustration _and _desperation, _even as she was peppered by her clan mates' sense of _pride _and _accomplishment _as they sent their balls whirling and tumbling through the air.

By the end of the lesson, Ro had managed no more than to get her ball to hover very shakily about a hands breadth away from the floor and that not for very long. But the tears didn't come until she saw some of the other Squalls looking at her and she finally understood what she'd seen in Master Sinube's eyes. Then she ran.

* * *

Garett trotted through the Temple, looking for his sister. He and his Master had been dispatched to a mission on Alderaan and Ro, having learned about the beautiful planet from her studies, had badgered him in the days before he'd left to tell her everything once he was back. Now he was back and Ro was nowhere to be found. That wasn't at all like her and Garett was starting to get a little worried. What he garnered from their bond didn't reassure him either. Ro was in some kind of distress, but he could neither tell from what, nor where she was at the moment. Or maybe, she wasn't allowing him to know.

That was worrisome as well, so he hurried his steps – just a little, he didn't want to draw any undue attention – and made his way to where the Younglings and Initiates had their classes. It was the most likely place for Ro to be at this time of day and the best place to start looking. Halfway there, he came across old Master Sinube.

"Ah, Padawan Arhen. Back from Alderaan I see. I hope your mission was a success."

Garett gave the old Master a respectful bow. "Yes, Master Sinube. Master Koth and I safely escorted Senator Organa back to his homeworld and oversaw the negotiations between the Stone Masons Guild and the Artists Guild. It seems that, for the moment at least, the question of fresh marble and adequate cost has been solved." Frankly, Garett was amazed that anything had been resolved at all. It was true what they said about artistic temperament. There'd been moments during the negotiations where he'd honestly thought blood was about to be spilled.

"Well, that's very good news, very good news indeed. Can't ever have enough marble statues lying around. Why, I remember a time, back on Tatooine…"

"Master Sinube," Garett interjected, adding another bow in apology. "I am very sorry to have to interrupt so rudely, but I am actually looking for my sister, Ro. Initiate Roweena Arhen, that is."

"Oh? Yes, yes, the little girl. I just finished teaching a class with her and her clan. Poor little thing. She was rather upset at the end of it, I'm afraid."

Ro, upset? "Thank you Master Sinube. Do you happen to know where she went?"

"'Fraid not youngster. I guess you'll just have to track her down." And with that, the ancient Jedi made his shuffling way down the hall.

Garett didn't hesitate for long. He made his way quickly to the nearest turbolift. If Ro was upset about something, then there was only one place she would go.

* * *

Garett entered the Room of a Thousand Fountains and nearly wept. Entering the large garden with its myriad of small rivers, ponds, waterfalls and, of course, fountains, was normally a quite pleasurable experience. The area was green, the air was fresh and there was no sound of the outside world. But today, the air was permeated with such intense _misery _that even the plants seemed to droop.

Garett took a deep breath and let the feelings wash through him and away into the Force. Sharing such a close bond with Ro, he was better equipped than most to deal with her Force-empathy. Though usually, his sister was more careful, less prone to projecting her feelings so broadly and intensely. _Whatever happened really got her going. _For a moment, he wondered why none of the other Jedi had picked up on this intense tangle of negative emotions and had come to investigate. For that matter, why was the Room do empty in the first place. This was a favourite meditation and meeting spot for most of the Jedi in the Temple. Surely, someone must have been here when Ro had come in, seeking solitude and solace. A small, nasty voice in his head suggested that maybe, that was _exactly _why no one was here. Garett shook the thought off. Surely, no one in the Temple would intentionally go out of his way just to avoid the misery Ro was projecting.

Finding Ro was easy; he simply followed his senses to the point where the negative emotions were the strongest. Ro was huddled beneath a willow standing on the bank of one of the smaller rivers, its wide, sweeping branches acting as a curtain and nearly concealing the girl completely from sight. It was one of Ro's favorite spots in the Temple.

Garett took in the sight of his little sister, knees drawn to her chest, her arms resting on them, her head buried in her arms. A little rubber ball was sitting in front of her and with a sinking heart Garret realized what this was all about.

"I can't do it Garett. No matter how hard I try, it won't move proper." Her voice was muffled due to the position of her face against her arms, as well as from the tears she refused to shed.

Garett knelt next to her and put a gentle arm across her shoulders. "Ro," he began, but she shrugged him off.

"Don't do that."

Garett was honestly confused. "Don't do what Ro?"

"Don't pity me!" She suddenly screamed into his face. Garett was so caught off guard he nearly fell over. He had never seen Ro act like this before. She wiped at her eyes angrily, though they were dry as far as he could see. A little red, but dry.

"I don't want your pity." She told him. "I don't want yours, and I don't want theirs and I don't want Master Sinube's. I want…" her whole body began to tremble. "I just want to be a Jedi." Then, in a quieter voice she added: "But I'll never be a Jedi, will I Garett?"

Garett bit his lip, thinking about what he was going to say. He'd known this day would come. He'd seen some of the older Jedi instructors looking at Ro, heard them talk about her in quiet corners. And he'd felt for himself just how tenuous his sister's connection to the Force was. A white lie now might spare her feelings. But it would no doubt just cause more heartache further down the road. And besides, he'd never been one to lie to anyone, especially Ro.

"I don't know Ro." He told her. "I think it depends on what you think a Jedi is."

Ro looked back down at her feet, at the little ball in the grass. "I mean, a Jedi like you."

"Then no, probably not." Ro's forehead came to rest directly on her knees, her arms hanging limply by her side, fingers twisting into the grass. Her face twisted into a grimace, as if she were experiencing some deep pain.

"Then they'll send me to the AgriCorps. I'll be a washout."

"I don't think you're looking at it the right way, Ro. Going to the AgriCorps doesn't make you a washout. I mean, do you even know what the AgriCorps does."

Ro looked at him puzzled. "No?" she asked, uncertain where he was going with this.

Having a Master who was also a member of the High Council had its advantages. One of them was that Garett had a far better understanding of the tasks and responsibilities of the other service branches of the Order than most Padawans his age. Using this knowledge, Garett smiled encouragingly at Ro. "Tell me first what you think a Jedi does, Ro."

"Well," she said, hesitantly. "A Jedi travels. He flies through the galaxy and has lots of adventures."

Garett nudged her a little, half in encouragement and half in teasing. "And?"

"And…and he helps people. A Jedi saves people from bullies and he rescues them from danger."

"And that's just what the AgriCorps does, Ro. They just don't do it with a lightsaber. At least, not most of the time."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes wide and disbelieving, but at least Garett could feel her depression beginning to lift. The air itself seemed to become lighter.

"Yeah, they do. You see Ro; the AgriCorps goes to worlds where people have been hit by natural disasters or any other calamity that has caused them to loose their livelihoods. They help people by encouraging plants to grow faster and better, so that people will have something to eat and to sell as soon as possible. They organize relief efforts with the Healers and help bring in medicine and supplies. When a planet is hit by a monsoon or a fire or a earthquake, you can bet that the inhabitants would rather see one AgriCorps member, then a hundred lightsaber jockeys." Garett waited a bit to let this information sink in, then pulled out his trump card. "You know that mission of Master Windu's? The one that brought him to Dantooine, where he found the two of us? That was an AgriCorps mission. Master Windu was merely there as support. **They **got to tell **him **what to do."

Ro's mouth dropped open in astonishment at this piece of news. "Wow," she breathed.

"Yep," he agreed and placed his arm once more around Ro's slender shoulders, carefully brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "It's not about what you can or can't do, Ro." He told her. "Nobody cares whether or not you can lift a ball," and he tapped the offending object with the toe of his boot, causing it to rock slightly in the grass. "You have your own special gifts and the important thing is how you use those gifts. Find your own way to help people and you'll be a Jedi before you know it. Whether in the AgriCorps, as a Librarian or a pirate hunter. Just help people, Ro. That's what matters."

She looked at him with her eyes so similar to his own. Then she leaned forward and, much to his embarrassment, gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"I will Garett. I'll help people. You'll see."

Garett couldn't help but smile. His sister sounded so solemn in that moment, so very grown-up. But he felt proud of her as well. It wouldn't be easy for her, but there was no doubt in his mind that Ro would keep her promise. He hugged his little sister, the ball forgotten at their feet.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Next Monday will feature the introductory chapter for my ARC trooper. Kamino, here we come.


	8. Chapter 8: 32 BBY

**Baby Boy**

"_When I was born, they looked at me and said,_

_what a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy."_

"_What a Good Boy" by Barenaked Ladies_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 32 BBY

Jango Fett walked down the rows of maturation chambers, eyeing the clones within them. They were floating in a solution of nutrients and organic catalysts, pale blue in color. Under the harsh artificial lighting of Tipoca City, these inorganic wombs and their inhabitants appeared to Fett even more unnatural than ever. _Made and bred in a lab, to grow up in a lab, to die on the battlefield. What a life. _But what he thought of the clones and their existence didn't really matter. He had a contract to fulfill and if there was one thing Jango Fett prided himself on, aside from his skills as a bounty hunter, it was his reputation of never breaking a contract. And in this case, that meant putting aside any feelings he might have about smaller versions of him bred in glass tanks to die for the rotten Republic and focus on turning these clones into the best soldiers the galaxy had ever seen. Besides, he'd already been paid in full.

"I hope this batch turns out better than your last one." He threw the comment back over his shoulder at the waiting Kaminoan cloner standing at the head of the column of maturation jars.

"I can assure you that the Alpha-class units will perform to your satisfaction." Ko Sai answered him back, her voice free of any rancor about his rather sarcastic remark.

_I really hope you know what you're talking about, fishmeal, _he thought and stopped at one of the jars at random. _Because the last batch you were so sure about are turning out to be more trouble than I ever thought possible. _Of course, the fact that Skirata was letting his little Nulls run absolutely wild wasn't helping the situation. At all. Already, most of the lower caste Kaminoans were refusing to enter the living area inhabited by Skirata and the Nulls, for fear of falling prey to the little demons. He'd already had Lama Su complain to him about the situation twice, and while no Kaminoan was actually capable of bitching, the Prime Minister was getting damned close.

He noted the identification number of the clone he was standing in front of, Alpha-77, and moved on. He heard Ko Sai's light tread behind him, the Kaminoan keeping a polite distance behind, as he made his first inspection of his new troops.

"So what did you do differently?" he asked her, without turning around.

"For one, I have left the genetic template mostly in tact." Ko Sai explained, her voice low and musical. It would probably have sounded pleasant to most beings, but Fett knew the Kaminoans too well by now to ever think of them as pleasant. Nor was he in the slightest bit honored that the Chief Scientist in charge of the project was acting as his tour guide. He knew it was simply a business courtesy on the part of the Kaminoans. Ko Sai had been honestly embarrassed at the failure of the Null-Arc series and wanted to make sure that Fett, and in extension their financial backer, understood that they had identified and corrected all their previous mistakes.

"These clones," Ko Sai continued, making an elegant sweeping gesture with her hand, "are a direct physical copy of you. Unlike with the Null-series, I have not attempted to alter muscle mass or bone density. Instead, other scientists, experts in their field, have altered the make-up of the nutritional supplements the clones will receive once they have been gestated. These, along with the exercise regiment we have suggested will encourage and accelerate muscle buildup over a period of maturation."

"Yeah, I saw the plans." He couldn't see her, but he thought she must be pleased. Her voice, when she continued, had that ring of self-satisfied arrogance to it that characterized Ko Sai.

"Similarly, I have not altered the brain chemistry of the Alpha-series to produce a more efficient thought process, nor have I raised their intelligence quotient." She paused, then added. "By too much."

_I think I just got insulted by a being most of my people would love to see roasting on a spit. _He wondered if he should tell her that, then decided against it. She probably wouldn't understand the humor of the situation anyway.

He passed more jars, more floating bodies of clones that would, in time, come to bear his face and speak in his voice. Their numbers flashed by him in reversed order, as he came closer to the end of the long line of maturation vats. Fett stopped again, looking down at another maturation jar, similar to the one he had studied before right down to its genetically same occupant. But something had caught his eye. The clone in this jar wasn't floating docilely in his catalyst mixture as the other Alphas had done. The clone's right foot was twitching slightly, toes curling and uncurling as if he were dreaming. _Or trying to kick his way out, _he thought and looked down at the monitoring display, which, along with providing extensive information on the clone's health also featured an identity display. Alpha-20.

Ko Sai had stopped with him, still keeping herself at a polite distance, so she didn't see what Fett was seeing. Given how paranoid she was about succeeding with her cloning program, that was probably for the best.

"The only things I have altered," she told him, "are those genetic qualities that directly affect our contract with the Republic and the requirements you listed for us as pertaining to the Advanced Recon Commando class. You will find that these units are absolutely loyal and obedient, without inhibiting the creative process. Their individuality will be within the stated parameters, as necessitated by their designed purpose. There will be none of the aberrant behavior exhibit by the Null-series. To ensure this, I along with Taun We, have devised a psychological regiment that will help enforce these traits."

"That's good to hear." He said, his attention still on Alpha-20. His foot was still twitching, but now his right hand had also clenched together. His eyes were still closed, but Fett could see activity behind the lids, as if the clone were tracking something with fanatical zeal. _This one's battle ready even before he's born. _Then he cast a glance at the sterile, white walls and the rows upon rows of oblong, glass tubes and thought: _Or as close to born as you can get around here._

"So that's it. All you've done is reinforce the chain of command genetically?"

Ko Sai drew herself up and although she did not sneer at him in contempt, her grey eyes sent the message all too well. To her, he was nothing more than a genetically imperfect Human, a barbarian bounty hunter whose only worth was as a source for some bits and pieces of DNA to create even better, genetically more perfect copies. _Except your genetically perfect copies ended up being hyper-intelligent psychotics who are only being kept from blowing this place to all nine Corellian hells by the restraint of a man who hates your guts. Great job, by the way. _

"You will find that thanks to the alterations I have undertaken, the Alpha units will not only obey orders, but will exhibit a high level of independence and creativity when executing these orders. Without," and she paused to give her next words a greater emphasis, "violating the command structure or jeopardizing their loyalties. Their minds are created to be both resilient to the stresses encountered in battle and flexible enough to adapt to any given situation."

She surveyed her work with obvious satisfaction. And why not, to her, these clones were a product and a product she had chiefly designed and tailored to the desires of her customer. And he had to admit, judging from what he had seen and heard she'd done her job well. _Which is just as well, because we really don't need any more 'intelligence units'._

"When will they be ready for training?"

"The decanting process will begin today, as soon as you have completed your inspection. By the end of this cycle, the process will be done. Then another three days for the units to acclimate themselves to an environment outside of their maturation chambers and for us to run preliminary scans and observations, in case a deficient unit has escaped any of our earlier inspections."

"Good, it's time for these soldiers to earn their keep." He cast one last look at Alpha-20, now lying silent and still in the light blue glow of the catalysts surrounding him. Only his eyes, still closed as they had been from the start, showed any sign of an alert mind behind the seemingly sleeping facade of his face.

_Guess this means happy birthday, you poor_ chakaar._ Get all the rest you can, because I'll run you ragged and I'll run you down, before turning you into the perfect killing machine._

Fett turned away from Alpha-20 and put the clone out of his mind. He had to finish his inspection and then begin preparations for the training of the Alphas. It was time he earned his keep as well and he would do it to the best of his ability. The Republic would have its army, he would make sure of it if it killed him. Or them.

* * *

**Author's note: **Just a general note on the side. This story is rated T for a very good reason. While Ro's earlier parts may have been rather lighthearted, the following chapters will contain darker elements. Ro will soon be entering puberty and I think we can all agree that that is never fun. And poor Alpha-20? Sigh. I fear my little ARC will not have a happy childhood. Be prepared for blood, violence and questionable themes. You have been warned.

Also, Ko Sai, Skirata and the Nulls are characters from Karen Traviss' _Republic Commando _series. If you haven't read it yet, you really should.


	9. Chapter 9: 31 BBY

**Let the Cannons Roar**

"_I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel,_

_Likewise I'll sell my spinning wheel,_

_And buy my love a sword of steel,_

_Johnny has gone for a soldier." _

_- "Johnny has gone for a soldier" British & Irish folksong_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 31 BBY

"So what do you think it will be like?"

In response to the query, Alpha-20 shrugged his thin shoulders, feeling the fabric of his fatigue's shirt slide over the skin. He was still trying to get used to the feel of the heavier fabric of a cadet's uniform.

"I'm not sure. Makes sense it will be just like in the vids."

He cast a look at the cadet next to him, Alpha-19 and saw the other clone's thoughtful expression.

"What?"

"I was just thinking," Alpha-19 said carefully, as if trying to voice an unfinished thought. "If it is just like in the vids, or how it was described to us in flash training, then why would we need a live demonstration?"

Alpha-20 blinked at the question. He hadn't really thought about that. He had just assumed that the information he had received in the crèche would automatically correlate with what he would be experiencing during his training. Because, that was what flash training was for, wasn't it? To give the Alphas and other clones an edge over their enemies, by having them pre-educated in the vats and the crèche. But if the information they had received did not in actuality resemble what they would experience on the battlefield, then what was the point? And wouldn't flash training them with faulty information impair them on the battlefield; even endanger their lives?

This train of thought and the questions it inspired were giving him a headache, and for a brief moment, Alpha-20 closed his eyes against the glaring lights of the hallway. He didn't need to see where he was going anyway. The blueprints of Tipoca City were edged into his memory and the cadence of the cadets' footfalls so even, he only had to listen to the rhythm to keep from treading on the heels of the clone before him.

When he was sure that he had banished all the upsetting questions from his mind, Alpha-20 opened his eyes again and fixed them on the clone walking beside him.

"You think too much."

In response, Alpha-19 gave him a wry smile. "I suppose so. But aren't you at least a little curious."

"Sure I am," he said and meant it. And why wouldn't he be. He was about to see for himself what it was he had been bred for, to undertake the first steps to fulfilling his destiny. He was about to tell Alpha-19 some of this, when the orderly column of Alpha clones came to an abrupt stop.

Halting, Alpha-20 automatically assumed the at-ease stance he had been taught; feet slightly apart, chin high and hands behind his back. The other Alphas, including Alpha-19, did the same in almost near perfect synchronicity.

Looking straight ahead, Alpha-20 mostly only saw the back of the head of the clone before him, but if he shifted his eyes just slightly to the left, he could catch a glimpse of Fett at the head of their column. The bounty hunter was talking to someone, another man in armor, though his was a shade of sandy gold.

Being closer to the head of the column, Alpha-20 had no problem hearing the altercation taking place between the two men. It wasn't like they were trying to be quiet anyway.

"I thought I told you to keep those boys in line, Kal." Alpha-20 didn't even have to look to know that was Fett speaking. _His _voice, he would recognize anywhere.

"And I thought I told you to mind your own _shabla _business. I'm handling it." The other man – Kal? – had a lower voice, gruff and sharp that went perfectly with the man's appearance. Scrutinizing his face and the rather short, stocky body, an image of a small burrowing animal surfaced in his mind. A gdan. A non-sentient animal native to the planet Quiilura, measuring about eleven inches. Small, but vicious. Alpha-20 discreetly tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, to catch a better view of the man. Taking in his pinched expression and the aggressive stance he was taking towards the taller and more muscular Fett, Alpha-20 thought that his flash training had provided him with the right description. The man really did resemble a gdan.

"I don't care Kal." Fett was saying and Alpha-20 turned his attention back to the argument. "I am sick and tired of having Lama Su come to me every other day because the Nulls sabotaged the pluming on level twenty-seven or because they caught another of the janitorial staff in a net or whatever else your little deviants come up with."

"Names, Fett. They have names."

Alpha-20 caught movement from the corner of his eye and whipped his head to the right. Strolling down the corridor and past the two neat rows of Alphas were two other clones. Alpha-20 blinked, then cocked his head to the side quizzically. These clones were definitely not Alphas. He knew every Alpha and besides, these two looked older. Not much, maybe a few months or up to a year. Of course, in the age-accelerated world of a clone, even that short of an age gap meant quite a few differences in appearance.

But there were other differences as well. These clones looked to be heavier set, their shoulders and chests broader than his. That could have come from being older and having had more physical training, but Alpha-20 didn't think so. And there was something different about the way they walked as well. Not side-by-side like the Alphas tended to do whenever there were two or more of them; not even one behind the other. One was walking ahead, while the other was behind and slightly to the right, though it didn't look like a flanking maneuver to him. It was…Alpha-20 groped for the word for a moment, then had it. Casual. There was something casual about their walk.

Next to him, Alpha-19 caught his breath. "Null-ARCs," he whispered.

Hearing the whispered words, or perhaps feeling the two Alpha ARCs staring at him, the first of the two Nulls came to an abrupt stop in front of them.

Smiling sharply, the Null said something to them, though Alpha-20 couldn't understand the words. He thought they must be Mando'a, it certainly sounded like the same language as _Dha Werda, _but the words were unfamiliar to him. The other Null came to stand beside the first and upon seeing the two Alphas perplexed expressions, he elbowed his brother in the side, grinning widely. The first grinned back, then turned once more to Alpha-20 and 19.

"What are you staring at, _di'kut_?"

Alpha-20 frowned. He might not know what _di'kut _meant, but he didn't have to, to work out that he had just been insulted.

"Not much." He answered back. "Mostly Fett bringing that other guy down to forty percent."

Now it was the Nulls turn to frown in confusion. Apparently, they no more understood the slang common among the young Alphas, then Alpha-20 understood their Mando'a. But like him, they didn't need to understand to know that something insulting just had been said.

Alpha-20 watched, fascinated, as the faces of the Nulls became hard and closed, the sharp, arrogant smiles from before vanishing. The first Null took a menacing step towards him, one hand clenched to a fist by his side. The other Null stepped to the back and side of his brother, and this time, Alpha-20 recognized the move as a definite flanking maneuver.

"No one talks like that about _Kal'buir._" The first Null slipped into a fighting stance, while the other Null's expression turned to grim satisfaction. He had apparently no doubt how this fight would end.

Alpha-20 felt something flare inside of him; something hot and searing and he realized with a start that he was angry. How dare these Nulls think he would be a soft target.

Alpha-20 broke rank, taking up his own fighting stance, though he noted that his was not as sure-footed as that of the older clone. Judging from the calculating gleam in the other clone's eyes, the Null had some practical experience in hand-to-hand combat, whereas Alpha-20 only had flash training to fall back on.

He felt a hand try to grasp the edge of his shirt, heard a hissed warning. "Alpha-20, no. You're not up to Code."

He ignored Alpha-19's warning, that hot buzzing in his head still loud and searing. He could practically feel the uncomfortable shifting in the ranks of Alphas standing closest to the scene, but none of them dared to move out of their pre-assigned positions and Alpha-20 payed them no heed. He was listening to that dull, angry buzz in his head and found he liked the sound and feel of it. It made his mouth flood with a taste like cold metal, as if he had just run his tongue along the knife with which he cut up his food. It made him feel better about his chances in facing the Null.

As if he could hear the confidant tone of his thoughts, the Null pulled his lips back to expose his teeth and began to close the distance between them. The Null cocked one fist for a ready punch and Alpha-20 brought up his arms in a defensive gesture when a loud, sharp voice rang through the corridor.

"Check!" Both clones froze immediately.

"Alpha-20, back in line!"

"_Ord'ika, _come here. You too, _Mer'ika._"

Both Nulls fell into a quick trot, hurrying back to the side of the other Mandalorian. Alpha-20 too did his best to fall quickly back to his position, once more taking up the at-ease stance next to Alpha-19. The buzz was gone as suddenly as it had come, leaving behind it an oddly empty echo in his head.

He watched the two Nulls disappear down the corridor with the Mandalorian Kal, then waited, hairs at the back of his neck tingling, for Fett. Fett stepped closer to the column, surveying the once more neat rows of clones, before his eyes landed squarely on Alpha-20.

"Discipline is essential for a soldiers survival, Alpha-20," he said, his voice curt. "You might want to think about that, before you break rank and act without waiting for orders."

Without another word, Fett turned away and gestured towards the column. "Enough playing around. It's time to get your feet wet. Alphas fall in." They fell into step behind Fett and Alpha-20 traded a relieved look with Alpha-19. That could have gone worse.

* * *

In the end, it turned out that Alpha-19's concern had some validity. The real thing was far more intimidating then anything Alpha-20 had experienced in flash training. _And this is not even the _real, _real thing. _

His breath caught in his throat, as a percussion grenade detonate not seven feet in front of the small group of Alphas. The ground was ripped open, leaving behind a gaping wound surrounded by shredded bits of flora and the remains of the soldiers that been standing close to the impact site.

Alpha-20's ears rang with screams of pain, the gasps of the dying and the shrill whine of blaster fire. He took a deep breath and smelled burned ozone, wet earth and a charred, meaty smell he thought must be coming from what remained of the group of soldiers that had been trying to storm the hill.

His mouth went dry and he reminded himself that it was only a simulation; a holographic replay of a battle won or lost long before he had been decanted. Still, he had to repress the urge to reach out a hand and touch one of the armored figures running past him, screaming orders into the battle-torn air. It just seemed so real.

"In a battle, you always want to take the high ground first." Fett's voice cut across the roaring of the heavy cannons and more dying screams. "The high ground not only lets you overlook the battlefield, it is the best position for your heavy artillery. Maximum range for best effect."

As if to underscore the bounty hunter's point, another massive roar tore through the air, making Alpha-20 wince in pain. The missile appeared to be coming at them directly and the circle the Alphas had formed at the start of the simulation drew together a bit more tightly in response. Not that a closer proximity to your fellow ARC would have saved any of them from the explosive capacity of the missile, had the thing been real.

Alpha-20 saw the artillery shell fly in a high arc, before impacting in the middle of a squad of tanks. It landed between two, the initial explosion tearing the two tanks to pieces, while the shock wave exerted enough force to flip the other two remaining tanks. Alpha-20 watched as three soldiers managed to extricate themselves from the wrecked tanks, bleeding from various wounds. _They should have stayed inside. Used the tanks as cover, _he thought, as a team of droidekas descended on the survivors and cut them down in a hail of blaster fire.

He felt another hand grasp his with desperate energy and Alpha-20 looked to his side to see Alpha-19, his face white, his eyes much larger than normally. The other clone was breathing in sharp little gasps. Alpha-20 looked down at their joined hands, then off to the left, at what Alpha-19 was staring at.

A soldier was crawling over the ground, trying to make his way towards the feeble protection of a few shrubs. The man had lost his helmet and blaster during the fight, as well as both of his legs. Using his fingers to properly himself forward, the man was leaving behind him a trail of thick blood in the ravaged grass. At the sight of the white bone protruding from the angry red flesh of the fresh stumps, Alpha-20 felt his own eyes widen. Even as the two clones watched, the man expired before reaching the shrubs. Feeling Alpha-19 shake, Alpha-20 gave their joined hands a slight squeeze.

"There is only one way to win a battle and that is together. Strength through unity is how an army functions best." Fett strode paced within the tight circle of young clones, his eyes fixed on them, while their eyes were transfixed by the carnage of the holographic battle.

"As Alphas," Fett continued. "You will often be working alone, preparing the battlefield for the actual invasion. But you can never forget that you are a part of the greater whole."

Alpha-20 watched as one of the soldiers picked up a fallen blaster and stormed towards the oncoming wave of droids. The man fired, yelling all the while, his shots taking down one droid after the other. Alpha-20 was fascinated as he watched the man – the hologram – stand against the droids. Slowly, others joined him, until they created a wave. The wave of armored bodies seemed to swell and crest and fell upon the droids in a roaring rush of screams, orders and more blaster fire. Metal tore and men fell, but Alpha-20 could see that the battle had been won. He felt his heart beat frantically in his chest and his whole body quivered as the artillery kept up a steady pounding rhythm. This was what he wanted to do.

* * *

"You liked that, didn't you?" Alpha-19 asked him.

They were back in their barracks, a few minutes before lights out. Some of the others had already returned to their bunks, but he and Alpha-19 were still seated on one of the benches by their lockers.

Alpha-20 felt a smile curl his lips as he thought about their demonstration that day. Liked it? He didn't think so. He liked blue milk. He liked the physical exercises that were part of their daily routine. The demonstration today had been so much more. His whole body had been quivering throughout the display and there had been an odd sensation under his skin, as if it could just barely contain him. He had felt a little bit like what he imagined lightning would feel like. Full of energy. _Anticipation, _he thought, comparing his feelings against the dictionary of words flash trained into his memory. _Anticipation and want and…and hunger? _He wasn't sure about the last one, but it seemed to fit in an odd way.

He straightened his spine before answering Alpha-19's query. "I did. It was one hundred percent. I can't wait to start training with a real blaster. And armor." He shot a challenging look at the other clone, who always seemed to be by his side, no matter where they went. A result of the order of their serial numbers.

"You didn't?"

Alpha-19 hesitated for a brief moment his face taking on a cast that looked _pinched _to Alpha-20.

"I guess so." He said slowly. "I think…I think I liked it best when that squad rigged one of the power cells from their repeating blaster to detonate."

Alpha-20 had seen that as well. Though in the chaos of the battle it had been difficult to know where to look first, that small group of huddled and stationary men had rather stood out among the constantly moving mass of the two clashing armies. And the explosion had been spectacular.

"That was a good move."

Alpha-19's face relaxed, as if relieved from same heavy burden. "Yeah, one hundred percent. I'd like to know how they did that."

Alpha-20 shrugged, but couldn't suppress a grin. "Stick around and you'll find out."

The other clone looked at him in puzzlement. "Where else am I supposed to go?"

Alpha-20 laughed and shook his head, felt the curls of his dark hair brush his forehead. He should go see the barber droid and have his hair cut really short this time. He didn't like having it in his face.

"No where. It's just an expression," he explained.

"Where did you hear something like that?"

Another shrug. "Somewhere. One of the other training sergeants I think." He jumped off the bench and tugged at the sleeve of Alpha-19's shirt. "Come on. Light's out in five and you don't want to be caught by a sentry droid, do you?"

The two clones scrambled up the ladder to their respective bunks, sliding into the sleeping alcoves where it was dark and secure. Falling asleep, Alpha-20 dreamed of blaster fire and downed droids, of the smell of burning ozone and a single soldier leading the charge. And in his dream, he was running with that soldier, side-by-side and it felt good. It felt right.


	10. Chapter 10: 30 BBY

**The Gathering**

"_Don't need a man to make things fair_

'_Cause more than likely, he won't be there. _

_Listen girl, gotta know it's true,_

_In the end all you've got is you." _

"_Inner Strength" by Hilary Duff_

* * *

Ilum, the Crystal Caves, 30 BBY

Ilum was a world of color. Ro stood in the middle of a large intersection of tunnels, deep within the maze of Ilum's legendary crystal caverns. Head thrown back to stare, she did a slow, full turn to take in the glittering ice surrounding her. What little sunlight managed to find its way through the ice planets constant cloud cover was filtered and broken by the thick layers of ice and snow making up the cavern's ceiling. The effect of light hitting the tiny imperfections and cracks within the ice created a myriad number of tiny rainbows and burst of color that shifted, depending on the angle you looked at them. It was absolutely beautiful. The fact that this was also the first planet Ro had ever visited aside from Coruscant greatly helped the girl to overlook Ilum's other, less charming, features.

Her friend and fellow Squall Clan member Inia was less taken with the planet. "'C'mon Ro, stopped gawking and let's get a move on. Master Yoda said we only have until sunset to find our crystals and I'm cold." To emphasize this fact, Inia gave a dramatic shiver.

Ro eyed her friend sympathetically. "You're right Nia, we should get going. You're already starting to turn blue from the cold."

"Ha, ha, so funny I forgot to laugh." The Pantoran girl rolled her eyes at Ro in exasperation.

"Seriously Nia, how can you be cold. On Coruscant, you're always complaining it's too warm."

"Well it is." Nia answered back, arms crossed over her chest, though the thick coat she wore made the maneuver difficult. "But just because I'm Pantoran doesn't mean I'm immune to the cold, or that I have to like it. Now can we please go? The other's might have already found their crystals while we've just been standing here."

"Okay, okay. Don't get your warmsuit in a twist." Ro cast a last wistful glance at the incredible color display of the ceiling, before turning her attention to the branching passageways. The two girls had a choice of five possibles.

"So, which way?" Ro asked.

"I don't know." Nia said. "But Master Yoda said that during our search, we should trust the Force to guide us. So maybe we should try sensing which way to go."

"I guess we could give it a try," Ro said, but without much conviction. Her connection to the Force was so weak, she'd probably be better off flipping a credit to determine her way, but she wouldn't say as much to Nia. While she had privately accepted the possibility of joining one of the less active service branches of the Order, discussing her limited Force-sensitivity with anyone but Garett was still a sore point for her.

She watched as Nia closed her eyes, her brow furrowing, crinkling the golden markings that adorned her face. Ro could feel intense _concentration _coming from the Pantoran, then a sense of deep _calm _and _peace, _as the other girl sank further into the Force. Ro copied the girl, closing her eyes and trying to feel…something.

As usual, there was the sensation of feathers, a snowstorm of them brushing her skin in an invisible wind. She tried grasping one of them with a mental hand, thinking that maybe, if she could, she would get a better connection with the Force. But she couldn't do it, just like she hadn't been able to in all her years as an Initiate. Opening her eyes again, Ro just stood in the icy cavern, watching as Nia's breath puffed out in even little clouds.

When Nia opened her yellow eyes once more, she pointed a confident finger at the third passage to the left. "There," she told Ro. "I'm supposed to go there."

"Great, so let's go," and Ro made as if to follow her friend.

Nia, already halfway to the passage, looked back at Ro, uncertain. "The Force told you to go this way, too?"

"Well, no, not exactly," Ro had to admit. "But that doesn't mean we can't go together."

Nia bit her lip, looking from the floor, to her chosen passage, then back at Ro. "Ro, listen. I think, maybe, you shouldn't come with me."

"Why not?"

"The Force told me to go this way, because this is where I'll find **my **lightsaber crystal. In order to find yours, you'll have to find the path that seems right to **you. **You understand?"

"Yeah, I guess that does make sense." Ro said, trying very hard to hide just how disappointed and abandoned she felt. How was she supposed to find her way, when she couldn't sense her way out of a wet paper bag?

"Okay then, well, I guess I'll see you back at the entrance hall." Nia said, walking backwards in her eagerness to get going. "And keep an eye on the chrono, Ro."

"I will Nia." Ro answered, but the Pantoran girl was already gone, her form swallowed by the darkness of the passage.

Ro stood there for a few moments, looking helplessly from one passage to the other. How should she choose? The only reason she had come this far was because she'd stuck close to Nia, relying on her friend's finely attuned Force-senses as a compass.

"No point in standing around here," she said to herself and, spinning on the ball of one foot, stretched out her arm and waited for chance to guide her.

* * *

Ro had been walking for nearly an hour and she was pretty sure that chance had screwed her big time. When the momentum of her spin had come to an end, her left index finger had come to rest on the passage on the far left. Believing it was as good a choice as any other, Ro had set out to find her lightsaber crystals. Now though, she was pretty sure this branch of the crystal cave maze was a dud. She hadn't seen a single crystal the entire time she'd been down here.

_I hope Nia and the others are having better luck than I am, _she thought glumly. At least she wasn't cold. Thanks to Garett recounting his own experiences on Ilum and Ro's extensive research on the planet, the girl had come prepared. She was wearing not one, but two warmsuits and the pockets of her insulated coat were full of supplies. Ro would neither starve, dehydrate nor succumb to hypothermia on this quest. Even if she missed the deadline and had to remain here until Ilum's next sunrise, nineteen days from now. She had even thought to bring extra illuminators with her, just in case.

_But as pretty as this place is, I don't want to get stuck here. I want to find my lightsaber crystal. If only I could have stuck with Nia, then we could have found some crystals together and I…_

Suddenly, the ground disappeared beneath her feet. Ro tumbled forward with a surprised shout, hitting a smooth patch of ice slanting downwards. She'd been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to watch where she was going and now she was careening down on a slide of ice, on her belly, deeper into the depths of Ilum.

Her short journey came to as abrupt an end as it had started. The ice slide evened out and Ro slid to a slow halt on a floor covered in snow. _At least the landing was soft, _she thought sourly, as she made her way to all fours, then got back on her legs, brushing the excess snow from her coat and hair.

She looked back at the slide, her natural good humor taking over as she surveyed the ice. "Okay, gotta admit, that was kinda fun." Her smile, when she turned around to better survey her surroundings, turned into an appreciative whistle. The cavern she was in now was gigantic, easily as big as the hangar bay of the Temple. The ceiling was dotted with stalactites and icicles, the smallest of which was twice as tall as her.

Ro walked through the cavern, head craned, turning this way and that to take in the sights. This cavern wasn't glittery like the one that had contained all those branching passageways, but it had its own definite charm. Then she caught a glimpse of color from the corner of her eye.

Ro, always attracted by anything colorful or shiny, turned in that direction. Her movement caused another shift in the angle of light and the twinkle of color came again. Walking towards the source, her heart nearly leapt into her throat. It was a lightsaber crystal!

She couldn't believe her luck. Running towards the crystal, Ro came to a skittering halt, her euphoria disappearing as quickly as it had come. She'd found a lightsaber crystal all right, but a crystal that was imbedded in the tip of an icicle hanging at least ten feet off the ground.

Ro threw her hands up in frustration. "Is this supposed to be your idea of a joke?" she asked, addressing her question to the air and the Force around her. Not surprisingly, she didn't receive an answer.

"Okay Ro, calm down. Temper tantrums won't get you anywhere." She crossed her arms over her chest, letting her chin rest there as well, as she closed her eyes and rocked slightly on her feet in an effort to get her feelings under control. _Calm, _she reminded herself, _I gotta get calm. _

When she felt she had herself under control again, she gingerly reached out her left hand, palm open in a beckoning gesture and focused on her objective. She wanted that crystal. Maybe, just maybe, if she wanted it badly enough, she could gather what little Force abilities she had and focus it to the point where she could pull down the crystal from its lofty perch. Over the years, she had practiced diligently and could even manage to lift small objects a foot or more off the ground; as long as they were light and she didn't have to keep them afloat for long. Hopefully, her meager talents would be enough.

They weren't. The crystal shivered gently in its resting place, high above Ro. It even twitched a little from side to side, but the grip the ice had on it and the distance between them were too much for Ro. Try as she might, she couldn't call the crystal to her.

Exhausted and panting from her efforts, the girl slumped onto the snow-covered floor. What was she supposed to do now?

_It's not fair. _She thought angrily, as she swiped at tears of frustration and bitter disappointment. _If only Nia'd let me go with her, I wouldn't be in this mess. _Anger at her friend made her throat tighten. _If Garett were here, he'd help me. He'd get the crystal for me, he'd…_

A memory came to her then, of when she'd been six and scared, running to her brother to be comforted after her nightmare. He'd sent her away that night, ignoring her pleas and tears. And while he had relented later on, the words he'd said to her back then sprang to her mind.

"_You can't keep doing this Ro…I'm being practical…A Jedi has to be strong in order to do his duty and that means finding the strength to deal with his problems on his own." _

In the days following the incident, Garett had apologized to her for his behavior, had tried to explain a Jedi's need to eschew all attachment, even family ties, but that he'd been wrong to go about it in that manner. But that didn't mean his words weren't true.

Ro stared at her hands in her lap, her tears forgotten for the moment. Garett had been right. A Jedi often acted alone, an independent agent of the Force. During a mission, he or she couldn't simply turn off their lightsaber and quit, just because they'd encountered a problem they couldn't immediately solve. A Jedi had to be strong and come up with a different solution, not expect somebody else to do it for him. And that was precisely what she'd been doing; expecting other's to solve her problems and make life easier for her. Wasn't that why she was really mad at Nia, because the girl had unwittingly quitted her role as Ro's crutch?

"You're pathetic, you know that, Ro?" she told herself. "Want to be a Jedi and travel through the galaxy, saving people and yet here you are, crying because some crystal won't come when you call. Well, then," and she threw her head up, throwing a swath of pale blond hair out of her eyes. "If the crystal won't come to you, then find a way to come to it."

She rose, forcefully throwing off her glum. She felt something hard and brittle on her cheeks and wiped a gloved hand at it. Small ice crystals came away with the motion and Ro realized that in Ilum's frigid air, her tears had frozen on her cheeks.

_Frozen, _she thought, an idea slowly forming in her mind. She inspected the area around the hanging icicle more closely. There! On the opposite side, close to the icicle containing the crystal was a stalagmite, rising from the ground a good five feet. Ro inspected it, then gauged the distance between the stalagmite's top and the crystal. Still quite a distance. Too far for her to jump, definitely.

Ro thought quickly, then unwound her scarf. It was long, but still not long enough. She shed her coat, then the first of her warmsuits. Quickly, she put on her coat again, shivering even after such a short exposure to Ilum's cold air. Ro fingered the warmsuit, then bit into the material, using her teeth to hold the warmsuit steady, while pulling with her hands along the seams. Her teeth ached from the effort, but she managed to split the material along the seams of the sleeves. She made a rope of this and then tied that rope to one end of her scarf.

Holding her impromptu rope, she climbed the stalagmite as far as she could, then fitted her feet into small crevices along the top. She took a moment to make sure that she wouldn't slip and tumble to the ground. With her luck, she'd end up with a broken skull.

Satisfied with her footing, Ro took out a canteen of water from one of her many coat pockets. This next part had to go down fast. The insulated canteen kept the water from freezing solid, but once she opened the top, the sub-zero temperatures would do their work quickly. Ro took a deep breath, sent a prayer to the Force and unscrewed the top of her canteen. Quickly, she doused the water on the first foot or so of her makeshift rope. Then, swinging it like a lasso, Ro brought the rope up over her head. She wasted a few precious seconds to make sure her aim was right, then let the rope fly.

Ro watched its end sail through the air and let out a wild cheer of triumph as the end of the rope met the icicle with the crystal and, carried forward by its moment, wrapped itself partially around the icicle. Doused in warm water as it had been, her wool scarf stiffened and hardened upon contact with the frigid air and ice, the material clinging to the surface of the icicle.

Ro didn't test whether or not the rope would hold her weight. She knew it wouldn't; at least, not for long. But maybe, it would hold long enough. Getting her feet out of their crevices within the rock, Ro repositioned herself and looked from her rope up to the glittering point of the crystal.

"You know," she said, to no one in particular. "This would be even more fun if that were a chandelier." Then she pushed off from the stalagmite and swung herself towards the crystal.

She'd been right. The rope couldn't hold her weight, small as she was. The material began to pull free from the icicle almost as soon as she suspended her whole weight from it. But the arc of her swing was perfect. It carried her right up to the crystal and even as her rope separated from the ice, Ro reached out her hand and grabbed at the crystal.

Her momentum carried her past the icicle and when the scarf's material came completely undone from the ice, she landed several lengths away. Luckily, the snow cover here was thick and although the landing hurt, at least she didn't break anything.

For a few moments she just lay there, on her back, breathing giddily. Even it hadn't been a chandelier, it had been fun, nonetheless. She loved flying. Lying on the ground of Ilum's crystal caves, Ro opened her clenched left hand and gazed wonderingly at her prize. She'd been wrong about her earlier assessment. The icicle hadn't held a single lightsaber crystal. There, amidst small bits of broken off ice, were two crystals the color of the sky just before the sun came up. She broke into delighted laughter. If the Force had a sense of humor, Ro decided she rather liked it.

* * *

"Do you need any assistance, youngling?" Huyang, the old architect droid, asked her.

Ro shook her head. "No thanks, I got this."

They were back on the _Crucible, _orbiting Ilum. Each of the Initiates had come back with a crystal of their own, displaying them proudly to each other, swapping stories on how they'd gotten them. Nia's was as yellow as her eyes and she'd practically glowed with pride as she told Ro how she'd navigated her way through a seemingly endless labyrinth with only the Force to guide her, in order to get it. When Ro had shown Nia her two crystals, the Pantoran's mouth had dropped open in surprise.

"How'd you get those?" she asked, _incredulity_ and just a touch of _envy_ radiating off of her.

Ro had shrugged nonchalantly. "By my wits, mostly." And had said no more.

Now the Initiates were busy trying to assemble their lightsabers under the watchful eye of Huyang. The architect droid had tut-tutted over her crystals, carefully inspecting them under various lenses, before showing Ro a selection of dual bladed and staff lightsabers.

"Best choice for those two crystals, youngling. You can trust me on that. Now, which feels right to you?"

Ro had eyed the schematics of each design carefully, before closing her eyes and imagining them in her hands. The staff lightsaber would give her range, something she could definitely use, but it felt too restrictive to her. She wanted something fluid, something that could adapt to a situation, as she would have to. She chose a dual bladed lightsaber design and Huyang equipped her with the necessary parts. When Ro requested actual tools to help her put the pieces together, the droid had hesitated, but complied after a surreptitious look at Master Yoda.

Now here she sat, cross-legged in a small corner of Huyang's domain, carefully assembling the parts of what would be her lightsabers. From the corner of her eye she could see Nia and the others putting together theirs, the components of the lightsaber floating in front of them as they exercised telekinetic control over each part. Ro didn't let it bother her. Nia had offered to help Ro once she was finished with her lightsaber, but the Human girl had declined. She would find her own way.

From time to time she heard Huyang or Master Yoda speak to or correct one of the other Initiates, but she paid them little heed. Nor did she notice when both the droid and the Jedi stopped by her side and passed on again wordlessly. She worked slowly, but carefully.

When the last piece slid into place, Ro let out a breath and worked out a kink in her back. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting here, but now that she was done, it felt like hours had passed. Looking about, she saw that three of the others, including Nia, were already done, testing their new lightsabers with careful swings. Others, like a scowling Makare, were still assembling theirs under the prickly photoreceptors of Huyang.

Ro got to her feet, firmly gripping the hilts of both of her lightsabers. They were heavier than she'd thought they'd be, but they felt right. She put the ends together, carefully twisting to test the locking mechanism. There was a soft _click _and her two lightsabers became a single lightsaber staff. She smiled, then twisted the hilts in the other direction and one became two again. that, at least, was working perfectly.

Ro took a deep breath, then held the hilts before her face in an upright position. She pressed the buttons on each hilt. Her lightsabers ignited, two beams of dark blue plasma, edged in purple coming to frame her face. Bathed in their light and warmth, Ro smiled. Maybe she wasn't strong in the Force, but she had her quick mind to balance that out. _Just like Garett and I balance each other out. _And now she wouldn't have to find her way alone anymore either. With two blades firmly in each hand, she was more than ready to face the world.


	11. Chapter 11: 30 BBY

**The Concept of the Thing**

"_I got a voice and you got a reason_

_For the glory we sing our broken song_

_Take a side and I'll take the other one_

_Two brothers under one nation." _

"_1961" by The Fray_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 30 BBY

"How do you come up with this stuff?"

Alpha-20 turned his head to look at Alpha-19. The two clone cadets were hiding out in one of the maintenance storage units. Equipped with emergency lights and a plethora of tools, the two clones were wrist-deep in the guts and wiring of the maintenance droids stored here.

Alpha-20 shrugged at his brother's question. "Don't know. Just came to me I guess. Now hurry up, it's almost 0500."

"Copy that," was the prompt answer and Alpha-19, or Asher as he liked to call himself, reapplied himself to the task of hacking and reprogramming the maintenance droids primary service program.

Alpha-20 turned back to the droid he was currently working on. They'd already modified four others in the past hour. The maintenance droids were not complex machinery. Designed for the most medial of tasks, such as waxing floors and vacuuming up debris, they lacked a higher artificial intelligence program and had no personality modes to speak of. So hacking into their system and introducing a few 'modifications' was proving to be a simpler task than Alpha-20 had at first anticipated. Particularly for two well-trained, highly intelligent future ARC's.

"I'm done. All one hundred percent." Asher replaced the cover plating on his droid, paying close attention to erase all signs of tampering. He made his way over to Alpha-20, careful not to bump into anything in the dim lighting of the storage unit. Coming to sit next to his brother, Asher clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Now whose the slow one?"

Alpha-20 grit his teeth, but didn't let himself get distracted. He carefully entered the last strings of data into his datapad, then watched the information as it was downloaded into the droid's central programming node. When the download was done, he wiped the datapad's memory clean, then detached it from the droid and replaced its plating. "I'm done, too. We'd better evac now, or risk getting caught. Meet you at the RV point in ten, okay?"

Asher grinned at him, his smile wide. "Copy that."

* * *

The two boys met up again precisely ten minutes later, in one of the long abandoned sections of Kamino's lower levels. They had found this place on one of their frequent illicit forays through the city after lights out. Alpha-20 guessed it must have been the office of some minor functionary, probably of the middle caste of the Kaminoan society, judging from the size and the few pieces of equipment that were still present. A high caste Kaminoan, distinguished by their grey eyes, would have never deigned to work in an office only six by four feet in size. Of course, for two two-year-old boys the dimensions of the room were perfectly adequate. Even if those two year olds looked more like four.

Besides, it wasn't the size of their hiding place that mattered, but what was to be found there. The old office still featured a set of working plasma screens, outmoded to be sure, but still capable of plugging into the existing security feed.

Alpha-20 watched the door from the cover of the desk, while Asher busily rerouted a small amount of power from Tipoca City's power grid to operate the screens. Once the screens lit up, Asher began hacking his way into the main system, bypassing security codes, until he had direct access to the security cameras carefully hidden throughout the city. As with reprogramming the maintenance droids, the task was easier than anticipated. Kaminoans in general were highly paranoid about having their more sensitive secrets, such as genetic information on current cloning programs, stolen from an outside source. As such, anything concerning cloning was protected by security measures and firewalls even the most sophisticated hacking program would need months to crack. But the cameras were a mostly passive system and Asher wasn't hacking directly into their program, but merely adding a new station to which the automated security system was to send its live feed.

"Mission accomplished, Alpha-20. I'm in."

Alpha-20 looked up at his brother, then threw a last look at the door before slowly coming out of his crouch by the edge of the desk. He moved towards where Asher was sitting in front of the screens, his face awash in their artificial light.

"Great job, Asher." He threw a quick glance at his chrono. "Coming up on 0500." His previously serious face broke into a very boyish grin. "This'll be fun."

The two boys crowded in front of the screens, their eyes riveted by the images depicted there. Each of the three screens showed a live feed from another corridor, each selected at random and scattered throughout Tipoca. As the chrono's display switched over from 0459 to 0500, two maintenance droids appeared on each of the three screens. Once each droid reached its assigned corridor, they lowered their brush attachments and began polishing the smooth, metallic floors. Alpha-20 watched the droids work, the machines working in pairs, two on each side of the corridor working in opposite directions. He also kept a close eye on the chrono as it ticked over another minute: 0501.

Foot traffic was light at this time of Tipoca's morning cycle; mostly lower caste Kaminoans, the menial labor force, along with a few administrative types. They each ignored the cleaning droids, walking past them with their long, elegant strides. Alpha-20 cast another quick look at the chrono. _Almost there, _he thought.

At 0502 all hell broke loose.

Instead of the usual cleaning and waxing solution, lubrication fluid suddenly came out of the tubular protrusions on the sides of each droid's 'head'. Not realizing what was happening, all six of the modified droids continued working the slippery oils with their brushes, spreading the mess over the previously pristine floors. On the middle screen, Alpha-20 saw the first two Kaminoans enter the now ruined stretches of corridor. They were so used to ignoring the cleaning droids during their work, that neither spared them a glance - or the floor. The two boys roared with unrestrained laughter as the two Kaminoans stepped into the oily mess and promptly slipped. One landed on his rump, the other skidded along several feet, arms flailing wildly before toppling forward, face-first into a puddle of oil.

Kaminoans were now entering the other two corridors and Alpha-20 and Asher laughed helplessly as the usually elegant and aloof beings that dominated life on Kamino, were reduced to a fumbling mass of flailing limbs and undignified skids.

When the chrono showed 0503, the cleaning droids went completely crazy. The square heads positioned on their squat bodies began to rotate wildly as their navigation program began feeding them wild and erratic coordinates. Like demented podracers, the cleaning droids began to careen crazily through the corridors, bumping into each other and running over those few Kaminoans who had been quick enough to register the hazard on the floors, but were not quick enough to escape the usually docile droids. One Kaminoan, his yellow eyes bulging from their sockets in fright, was being chased around in circles by one of the maintenance droids, his long, skinny neck bent almost backwards in his attempt to look over his shoulder.

The two boys were by now so taken with laughter that they had to cling to each other to stay upright. Tears streamed down their faces as they watched nearly a dozen Kaminoans trying to either run away from the crazed droids, or regain their footing on the slippery floors. Neither group was proofing very successful.

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Asher watched the screens, then quickly jabbed an elbow into Alpha-20's side.

"Ow, what?" he asked, a little irate with his brother.

Asher pointed to the screen on the right. "Look."

Another figure had appeared on the screen, but this one was no Kaminoan. Alpha-20 nearly groaned in dismay when he saw who it was. With a head of curly black hair, dressed in pale blue fatigues, the Human boy on the screen was clearly a clone like them. Except that no normal clone, whether ARC, commando or regular meat can, would be out of bed at this hour as it was against regulations. And if they were, they'd make sure not to be caught on any of the security cameras. But of course, this boy was no ordinary clone.

Alpha-20 watched with a mixture of trepidation and bemused anticipation, as Boba trotted towards the hazardous section of one of the corridors. When he hit the oil patch, he went flying.

Boba was not subjected to the accelerated aging of the other clones, so unlike them, he really was only two standard years old. As such, the boy possessed neither the reflexes nor the instincts that came with a more mature body and mind. He failed to regain his balance and skidded on the oil, falling flat on his face. There was no audio, so Alpha-20 couldn't be sure, but judging from the body language, he guessed the kid was crying.

"What a spaz," he heard himself mutter.

"Maybe, but here comes real trouble." And Asher pointed once more to the screen.

Alpha-20 couldn't help but wince. Visible on the screen was now the tall and broad shouldered figure of Jango Fett. The bounty hunter hurried over to Boba, careful to keep his balance on the slick floor. Ignoring the still prone Kaminoans, Fett kicked one of the maintenance droids with his armored boot, sending the machine crashing into the far wall and keeping it from running over the small clone.

Alpha-20 and Asher watched silently as Feet went down on one knee next to Boba and gathered the boy into his arms, carrying him safely away from the oiled section of corridor, stepping over some of the stunned and besmeared Kaminoans. Alpha-20 couldn't hear what Fett was saying, but he saw the man's lips move as he talked to Boba. His gauntleted hand moved slowly up and down the boy's back, from time to time coming up to smooth down the tousled hair. Boba, clinging to Fett's neck, had stopped crying.

Asher broke his concentration by lightly nudging his leg. "C'mon Alpha-20, we need to get back to the barracks. If Boba is up this early, then that means Fett won't be long in checking in on us."

"You're right." He cast one last glance at the screen, but Fett and Boba had moved out of the camera's range. "Let's wipe the system and get out of here."

* * *

They made their way through the maze of abandoned corridors and air ducts, careful to avoid detection. Halfway to the barracks, Asher began to laugh again.

"I still can't believe we pulled that off. Did you see how those long necks went flying?" And he clapped his brother on the back in exuberance. "I still don't know where you got the idea from, but it was even better than the time you thought of messing with the ventilators."

Alpha-20 grinned back in remembered pleasure. "I hear they're still trying to get the smell of wet bantha out of the furniture on level six. And besides," he shrugged with feigned nonchalance, "who says the Nulls are the only ones who get to pull crazy stunts."

"Ten-four on that." Asher agreed, then he eyed his brother in speculation. "You think they'll get blamed for this?"

Alpha-20 shrugged again. "If the Kaminoans find any evidence of tampering, - and that's a big if – then why not? Fett always says to have a safety in place in case of detection."

Asher shook his head in admiration, his dark curls bouncing with the movement. "You're a real piece of work Alpha-20, you know that? You, you're like," and he waved his right hand in the air, as if trying to conjure up the right term, "a hydrospanner somebody threw into the cogs to foul up the system. Hey!" And he snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "That should be your name."

"What? Hydrospanner? Kind of a mouthful don't you think?"

"Well, maybe not Hydrospanner, but how about Wrench?"

"Wrench?" Alpha-20 repeated the word, uncertainly. He wasn't so sure he liked it as a name, but didn't want to come out and say as much to his brother's face. "Isn't there a Wrench already?"

"There is, but that doesn't mean it's the same thing. He calls himself Wrench, because he likes engineering. You'll be Wrench, because you can bring down the system from the inside."

Alpha-20 silently mulled that over in his mind. _Wrench, _he mused, still not sure he liked it as a name, but finding he did like the concept behind it. "Wrench." He said it aloud this time, testing out its feel on his tongue, trying to visualize the word in connection to him. "Wrench," he said again, a little louder this time. "Yeah, yeah I guess I could be Wrench."

He turned to grin at his brother and Asher returned the gesture. For a brief moment, they perfectly mirrored each other, identical expressions of joy, exhilaration and mischief on their faces.

Wrench and Asher made their way back to their barracks undetected, walking through the lonely underground of Tipoca City side by side.


	12. Chapter 12: 29 BBY

**First Step into the Night**

"_I'll do anything you want._

_There must be someone I can call,_

_And just maybe they would let you come home._

_But he wrote, this is what brothers are for." _

"_Brothers" by Dean Brody_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 29 BBY

Wrench adjusted the grip on his DC-15A blaster rifle, then sighted up his target through the scope. The holographic target, a single small point of light, moved rapidly on the wall in random patterns of sharp angles.

He didn't bother trying to follow the target with the barrel of his rifle. A pointless exercise, considering the speed and unpredictable nature of the target. A rookie mistake. And he, Wrench, was no rookie when it came to the art of sniping.

He breathed evenly: not too deeply to upset the positioning of the Deece on its tripod, or too shallowly to cause oxygen deprivation. He was patient, his body relaxed, finger poised on the trigger; his mind both blank and focused to a fine edge. All he needed was to wait until the target came into his field of vision, then anticipate its movement, before it left that small visual space again. Simple.

The holographic point of light made another sharp turn to the left, then an abrupt turn to the right and down, and right into his line of sight. Wrench didn't hesitate. Without thinking, going on instinct and hours of flashdrills he anticipated his target's next move and pulled the trigger.

The moment that the blue bolt of plasma left the rifle's muzzle, Wrench knew he'd nailed it. He let the rifle's kickback roll through his body, then lifted his eyes from the scope to study the results. He grinned when the automated scoreboard showed another hit. He was fifty for fifty so far. The board blanked out, then turned green; a sign that he had completed the exercise and was free to leave the shooting range.

Wrench stood from his prone position, rolling his shoulders and neck. It had been a long day, but he felt good. Finishing with a perfect score always made him feel good. Hearing loud and colorful swearing from the booth next to him, Wrench went to see how his brother was faring; leaving the rifle at the range. The maintenance crew would store it away later. For now, the DC-15A was still too heavy and large for Wrench to carry about by himself.

Crossing to the other booth, Wrench leaned casually against one corner, arms crossed over his chest, watching his brother with both amusement and exasperation. Asher was still lying on his stomach, his blaster rifle held in his hands, intently peering at his own holographic target through the scope. Clenching his jaw, Asher took aim, fired…and missed. There followed another string of curses that made Wrench's eyebrow's lift in surprise.

"Colorful. Where'd you pick those up?"

"One of the sergeants." Asher replied, without looking up. He sighted on his target again, aimed, fired and this time managed to score a hit. Barely.

Wrench sighed and shook his head. He just couldn't understand it. Give Asher something that could blow up and he was a genius, but put a rifle in his hands and, well….

"You suck at this."

"Don't you think I know that," was the frustrated reply. Asher adjusted his position, then the position of the blaster and finally the settings on the scope. "Stupid, kriffing, _shabla _thing."

Taking pity on his brother, Wrench pushed himself away from the corner and knelt down next to the other clone, putting a hand between his shoulder blades. "Calm down, take a deep breath and shut up. You'll never hit the thing if you keep muttering and shifting."

"You are aware aren't you," Asher asked, while following his advice, "of the irony of **you** telling **me** to calm down."

A wide, boyish grin split his face and for a moment, Wrench actually looked like a normal little boy. "Actually I am. Now clam up and breathe."

Asher closed his eyes and took three deep, long breaths.

"'Kay, that's good. Now let the target come to you. No use chasing the darned thing willy-nilly."

The other boy became still under Wrench's hand, tracking the target with his eyes, instead of his rifle. The next time he fired a shot it was a perfect hit.

The two brothers shared an exulted grin, Asher whooping in delight when the scoreboard showed that he too had completed the exercise.

"Finally," he exclaimed and practically flung himself away from the rifle. The blaster wobbled a bit on its tripod, then toppled to its side. Wrench winced, half-expecting a wild shot, but thankfully nothing happened. Asher, it seemed, had at least remembered to engage the safety. Utterly ignoring his ill-treatment of the blaster, Asher pushed past Wrench and made for the exit of the range, obviously hoping to beat a hasty strategic retreat before Fett or one of the other instructors could assign him extra time on the range. Wrench caught up with him and the two clones naturally fell into step with each other.

"You still only managed to hit forty-seven out of fifty targets," Wrench reminded him. "And you took a lot longer than the rest of us." That was true. They were the last of the ARC's to leave the shooting range for the day.

"Yeah, I know." Asher said, his voice sullen and disappointed. "It just…I don't know, doesn't feel right. Get me?"

"I guess." Actually, Wrench didn't get it, not in the least. Every time he picked up a rifle, it felt like the most natural thing in the galaxy to him. Like going to sleep or taking a breath. But he would never say so to Asher. It would only upset and depress his brother even further.

"I could, you know, try and teach you," he offered hesitantly, not sure how Asher might react to the suggestion.

Asher stopped, tilting his head to the side to regard his brother curiously. They were in one of the corridors leading to the barracks and Asher pitched his voice low, to avoid being overheard by a passing sergeant; or worse, one of the Kaminoans. "You would? How? And when?"

Wrench shrugged, also keeping his voice low. "I don't know. I figure we can always sneak into the range after lights out. Pull a couple of extra shifts."

Asher considered this, then grinned. "Yeah. That would actually be really great. It would be like a real black ops mission. All secrets and danger."

His enthusiasm was catching and Wrench couldn't help but grin back. It was a wonderful idea. A real black ops mission and just the two of them.

* * *

Wrench made sure that everyone else was safely tucked away in their bunks, before making his way down the ladder and out of the barracks. He was supposed to meet Asher in ten minutes for another lesson in shooting. These illicit excursions had been going on for a few weeks now and while Asher was improving – slowly – Wrench had mastered the art of sneaking out of the barracks undetected.

The night cycle was in full swing and the lights set to an accordingly dim level. But he didn't need lights to find his way around. With a nearly eidetic memory and the intense survival training he was receiving, memorizing the route from the barracks to the shooting range was no problem. The ARC's had been flash trained with the entire schematics of Tipoca City even before they'd been decanted.

Arriving at the door leading to the range, Wrench was surprised to find the corridor empty. He and Asher had had different training sessions today, but he'd still expected his brother to be on time and waiting for him. Asher was never late.

The skin on his neck prickled suddenly, but it was already too late. A large hand landed on his shoulder, spun him around and forcefully pushed him into the opposite wall. The air rushed out of his lungs and his head collided painfully with the transparisteel encircling the upper half of the tubular corridor. For a moment, his vision was blurred.

The hand came at him again, this time grabbing the front of his fatigues and shaking him violently.

"Did you think you could fool me?"

Teeth rattling, Wrench could now identify his attacker. There was only one man in all of Kamino with that voice, a voice that was both deeper and yet the same as his own. He was shoved again and this time he fell to the ground, landing hard on his back. A boot came down on his chest, applying a painful pressure to his ribcage. Wrench looked up and in the dim light made out the face of Jango Fett.

"Well?" Fett asked. "I asked you a question soldier and I," the pressure on his chest increased and Wrench gasped, "expect an answer."

Wrench hadn't been alive for long. Even with accelerated aging, three years was not a long time to gather much experience. But he did know one thing: it was a bad idea to lie to Jango Fett, especially when the man already knew the answer.

"It was just," he gasped in air, "training." Another gasp. "Sir."

"Training." It wasn't a question and Wrench couldn't quite identify the tone of Fett's voice. That scared him even more than the heavy boot almost cracking his ribs. "Well soldier, training's over." The boot came off of his chest and Wrench wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and gaining some distance between himself and the much taller man, automatically falling into a defensive crouch. Fett made a jerking motion with his head. "Get back to your rack. You'll get your punishment in the morning."

"What about Asher?" The words were out of his mouth before he could help himself. "I mean, Alpha-19, sir."

Fett, who hadn't expected any outbursts from the young ARC and had already taken the first steps back into the corridor, abruptly turned back around.

"Did you just say something, soldier?"

_You know I did, _Wrench snarled inwardly, but kept his face carefully blank. He came to attention, back straight and shoulders out, although his chest bitterly complained. No doubt, he would have massive bruising in the morning. In the back of his mind, he felt that low buzzing start up again.

"Yes, sir. Requesting status update on Alpha-19, sir."

Fett was on him before he could react. For a man as old as Fett – and to Wrench, he was the oldest Human he had ever seen – the bounty hunter was still light and fast on his feet. And he could still throw a punch with the best of them, particularly when in full armor. Fett's right fist connected squarely with Wrench's cheek and the young clone went flying backwards. His landing was no more graceful and just as painful. Fett stalked towards him, while Wrench struggled to regain his footing.

"You wanna know what happened to Alpha-19? Let me tell you. The same thing that happens to all failures: the Kaminoans got him."

The words froze Wrench. His muscles tensed and his breath stilled. "No." The word was no more than a whisper. Fett still heard him.

"Yes. Alpha-19 was reconditioned. He couldn't cut it in training and so he was mustered out. Just be glad I kept the Kaminoans from taking you too for insubordination."

"Taking me, too?" he asked, not quite capable of comprehending the words. His mind was on Asher: his brother, his friend. And he was gone.

Fett threw his hands up, as if in utter exasperation, then grabbed the boy by the scruff of his fatigues and shook him violently. "Of course, you too, you _di'kut._ You went against regulations, have been for weeks now. Did you think the long necks would just let that slide?"

Wrench couldn't answer, his teeth were coming together in painfully sharp clicks and his head was starting to hurt from the shaking. As suddenly as he had grabbed him, Fett let the young clone go again. Wrench stumbled slightly, then put out a hand to steady himself against the wall.

Fett stood at a distance, regarding the ARC in disgust and…and something else. "I told the Kaminoans they couldn't have you. That you're too valuable a resource to recondition over such a minor matter. But heed me soldier, step out of line like that again and I wont do you any more favors."

Wrench's head came up sharply, his brown eyes narrowing on Fett's dimly lit figure. The buzzing in his head he associated with being angry, swelled to a low, menacing roar. His throat tightened, while at the same time his bruised chest seemed to fill with something, some emotion he could not quite name, but what seemed far beyond any anger he had ever felt before. But it felt huge and ugly and when it spread to a point behind his eyes, Wrench saw red.

"A favor?" the boy screamed at the bounty hunter. "You think you did me a **favor**? Asher is dead." And with that last declaration, Wrench threw himself at the older man with a scream of raw pain and anger.

He had the satisfaction of seeing Fett's eyes, - so like his own, so like Asher's - widen a fraction in surprise, before the bounty hunter caught himself. Wrench's attack had been wild and Fett had no problem in sidestepping the lunge. He brought his fist up into Wrench's stomach and Wrench gagged, feeling bile rise in his throat. He tried to roll with the punch, letting his body fall with his forward momentum, while making a grab for Fett's sidearm. His fingers brushed the cool plastoid of the hand blaster's grip, before Fett jerked away from him. He saw Fett's arm come up as if to punch him again, saw something metallic gleam in the dim light. Then there was a sharp, hot pain at the corner of his mouth, dragging up towards his cheek.

Wrench landed once more hard on the floor. The kick of an armored boot in his ribs sent him skittering into the wall. His head slammed against the durasteel, the small of his back impacting with the base of a protruding arch. He curled up, holding his protesting ribs, his body wracked with pain, all kinds of different pain. Lying on his side, his back to the wall, Wrench watched Fett's boots come into his line of sight. His body tensed for another attack, but the boots stopped a foot away from him. There was something warm spilling down his face, across his lips.

"Get back to your barracks, soldier," Fett said, not even breathing hard from their fight. "I expect you up and on time for training."

Wrench gasped in pain, but managed to twist his head enough to stare into Fett's face. "I…I hate you." The words came out choked with blood from the wound at his mouth.

Fett's expression didn't change, his face remaining blank and hard and unforgiving. "You can hate me all you want, Alpha-20. It doesn't change a single thing." And with that, the bounty hunter turned his back on the injured boy and disappeared down the dark corridor.

Wrench turned his head again and pressed his face against the cool metal plating of the floor beneath him. Blood was still flowing from the cut he'd received from the vibroblade Fett kept in his armored glove. The wound burned, the flesh around it beginning to swell. The rest of his body ached and shivered. He didn't care. He thought about Asher as another one of Kamino's endless storms began to rage outside of the city. He pressed his face more firmly against the coolness of the floor and thought about Asher as the blood spilled onto the floor around him and mixed with his tears.


	13. Chapter 13: 29 BBY

**Burning Bridges and Crossing Lines**

"_I'm tired of being what you want me to be._

_Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface,_

_Don't know what you're expecting of me._

_Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes._

_(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)_

_Every step that I take is another mistake to you." _

"_Numb" by Linkin Park_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 29 BBY

In order to avoid the barbed wires crisscrossing just a few inches above him, Wrench had to keep his head down and low. And that meant practically dragging his face through the foul accumulation of nerf guts covering the floor of the exercise yard. The only good thing was, that he did not have to worry about his hair either getting caught in the wires or turning into a tangled mess of knots, wetted and oily from sweat, blood and the foul slime that still coated the steaming piles of entrails and organs. Even as he struggled through the noxious exercise, he was ridiculously grateful for the short stubble that covered his head. But that only alleviated the least of worries.

He pushed forward with his fingers and toes, trying desperately to breathe in through his mouth, rather than his nose. Except, when he did that, he was just as likely to get pieces of the guts and organs stuck between his teeth. That, or he'd inhale a mouthful of the flies that buzzed and scuttled over and on the nerf entrails; fat, greasy and glistening like winged Hutts. Considering his options, Wrench preferred to breathe in the stink of rotting nerf innards to actually tasting them or their insectile denizens. He desperately wished for his helmet and armor, but having air filters to keep the stench away would naturally defeat the point of the exercise. And that was to break them.

In an effort to avoid hitting a particularly large clump of organic matter – Wrench guessed it was a stomach, with a good five feet of its digestive tract still attached - the boy lifted his head and shoulders slightly from the damp and muddy ground. But when he continued crawling, the edge of his fatigues caught on one of the barbed wires. He couldn't go back, so he jerked a little to the side, even as he moved forwards; hoping the barb hadn't hooked itself too deeply into the cloth. There was a rip as the cloth tore and an agonizing line of fire made its way from his neck to between his shoulder blades. Wrench gasped with the pain, feeling the skin on the right corner of his mouth stretch and split in a few places.

Wrench grit his teeth and lowered his head again. Asher's death and his fight with Fett had only occurred a few weeks ago. Though Wrench hadn't realized it at the time, Fett's vibroblade had cut straight through his cheek, creating a gaping wound from the right corner of Wrench's mouth, halfway up his cheek. He hadn't been given any bacta treatment for it; just a few stitches and it hadn't had enough time to heal properly, yet. Not that time to heal was a luxury the ARCs were given.

Tasting the blood from the reopened wound on his tongue gave Wrench something else to focus on than his current miserable situation. Somewhere at the end of what was called the Sickener was Fett; waiting to evaluate the young ARCs performance. Wrench clenched his fist until the skin above his filthy knuckles turned white and the joints popped. Fett would be watching him very closely, no doubt; would see him trying to avoid the unsavory obstacle. No. No! He would not be seen as weak. Not by Fett and not by anyone else.

Wrench crawled forward, head lowered mulishly, like a bantha ready to spear someone on its horns. The churned up ground squelched beneath his body as he forcefully elbowed his way past the stomach; revoltingly pink and white, covered with bulging blue veins. The pungent nerf stomach left a trail of blood and slime on his face and hands as he pushed past it and when his elbows encountered the soft flesh, there was a wet tearing sound and a cloud of an overwhelmingly acrid odor blasted into his face. He gagged, but managed to crawl on.

It seemed to go on for hours: the smell, the buzzing of the flies, the feel of slimy innards against his skin. There were even maggots on some of the riper nerf parts, their white bodies bloated from gorging, wiggling obscenely as they rolled and crawled over what was to them an unimaginably opulent feast.

_Don't think that! _He practically yelled at himself. _For kriffs sake don't. Even. Think. That. _He bit savagely into his tongue; using pain to distract himself from his thoughts. Actual thinking would not get him through this. He had to shut his mind down and concentrate on keeping his body going.

Wrench was so focused on keeping himself moving forward, taking it one second at a time, that at first he didn't notice that his head and shoulders had cleared the barbed wires. When his fingers dug into soil slightly less damp from the excretions of nerf organs, he nearly wept with relief.

He gave one last push with legs and hands that were beginning to cramp and cleared the wires completely. Closing his eyes and taking a few precious seconds to catch his breath, he began the laborious work of getting back on his feet. It was easier said, then done. He'd been crawling on his stomach for so long, his body seemed to have forgotten the mechanics of standing upright.

He had to use his arms for leverage and in repositioning them, he found his left hand sink into something soft and slightly warm. He didn't want to look, but knew he had to.

His hand had come down on a pile of nerf entrails, lying at the edge of the field as if carelessly discarded. His body weight had driven his hand straight through the pile, splitting the skin and causing the innards to burst open like a hellish party favor.

They were fresh, these innards. Wrench could tell, not just from their relative warmth against his suddenly clammy skin, but from the fact that he could still see the digested remains of the nerf's last meal within them. The churned brown mass made a stark contrast to the pale pink flesh of the guts, riddled with blue veins and white sinew. Within the brown mass, Wrench could see a few seeds poking out, pale yellow and green.

Maybe it was the sight of the seeds that did it, or the awful stench finally penetrating his conscious mind, but Wrench found his mouth and tongue had suddenly gone dry. Then it was flooded with saliva, as sour tasting bile began to rise in his throat. Wrench abruptly leaned towards the side, away from the sight of the nerf guts, and wretched.

He wretched and coughed and hacked, but not much came out except strings of greenish saliva, flecked with red from the reopened cut at the corner of his mouth. He wasn't surprised. Wrench had lost most of his stomach contents early on during the exercise and they, like the filthy ground and the slime of the innards, were now smeared across his fatigues and exposed skin.

_They don't call it the Sickener for nothing, _he thought, as his arms trembled and the wretching slowly subsided.

"Pitiful." The word made Wrench look up. His eyes caught on grey and blue armored boots and traveled upwards to the helmeted face of Jango Fett. "Do you know how long it took you to make your way across, soldier? Well, let me tell you: four minutes and thirty-six seconds. What were you doing in all that time? Catching up on your beauty sleep?"

The insult, the reminder of his and Asher's nightly excursions, made Wrench's face twist into an ugly snarl. He managed to haltingly get back on his feet, then drew the back of his filthy sleeve across his mouth. It didn't do much to clean his face, - made it worse in fact - but it bought him time to regain control over his temper. When he had it back under control, he clasped his arms behind his back and stood at attention.

"Sir. No, sir."

Fett crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at him. "Well then, if you weren't sleeping, then you were dawdling, because no ARC should take that long to complete as simple a task as crawling over a piece of ground."

_I'd like to see you crawl through the Sickener sometime, _he thought acidly, but kept his face blank and his eyes fixed firmly on the T-shaped visor of Fett's helmet. He ignored the rest of his fellow ARCs: those standing around Fett in a loose semi-circle, as well as those who were crawling free of the barbed wire and the Sickener after him. Fett did as well.

"You're going to get back in there, soldier and complete the exercise in a more timely fashion. I want at least forty seconds shaved off of your time. That's an order."

Wrench was so angry that for a moment, he couldn't get the words out that were lodged in his throat. He saw the other latecomers scramble to their feet, casting quick glances at the two frozen combatants, before hurrying to the fragile safety of the larger group. Wrench knew he was being singled out, unjustly or not, and figured it was part of his 'punishment'. Over the past few weeks, he'd been punished quite often.

Wrench saw one of the latecomers, Sull, slip on a nerf kidney. The ARC quickly straightened himself, kept from falling on his face and hurried towards the others. Seeing it, Wrench suddenly thought of the night he and Asher had messed with the cleaning droids; how he had seen Fett gather up and comfort a crying Boba after the boy had taken a tumble on the slippery floor.

The memory caused something inside of Wrench to snap and that same burning, roaring sensation that had overcome him on the night he had learned that his brother was dead, overcame him now. He even knew what to call it now; he had looked it up in the databanks. Hate. Hatred. He had known the word before, had even said it to Fett, but he had never consciously associated the word with the corresponding feeling. But now he knew that that was what he felt. And the knowledge was a powerful one.

He met Fett's eyes through the visor and spat out his next words; knowing even as he did, that he was crossing a line, carefully drawn and maintained by Fett.

"You'd never treat him like this."

Though wearing full armor, Wrench could see Fett's body tense up and the eyes of the other watching clones went wide with shock.

"What did you say?" Fett asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"I said, you'd never treat **him **like this. And we're the same." He thumped his narrow, grimy chest in emphasis, then swung out his arm to include the rest of the ARCs. The other boys drew back with a jerk, as if trying to escape that sweeping gesture. "Me and him and all the other clones are the same, yet you treat him different. You'd never make him run through the Sickener. You'd never let the Kaminoans take him away." He added the last part in an angry hiss, his fists balled at his sides.

He saw a few of the other boys shoot furtive glances at Fett, while most looked at the ground, avoiding having to look at him. Everyone knew about Boba: the clone who did not train with them, or ate with them or slept in the barracks with them. The boy who was so different, he did not even age with them. Fett had made it clear, from the very beginning of their training, that Boba was something separate from them; not to be touched or messed with. Not even to be mentioned. It was an unspoken rule among the young ARCs never to mention Boba in Fett's presence. Wrench had broken that rule and by the awkward shifting of tired feet and grimy bodies, he could see that his act was making them profoundly uncomfortable. They didn't know how to understand this situation; this confrontation between one of their own and the man who dominated every waking moment of their lives.

And Wrench cared neither for their discomfort, nor their confusion. None of the other ARCs had asked about Asher when his bunk remained empty. They neither had to, nor wanted to. It was enough that he hadn't come back and this silence enraged Wrench now as much as Fett's actions. They were denying Asher had ever existed, so that they didn't have to confront the truth of his sudden disappearance. So why should he care about how they felt now? If they hadn't cared about one brother, why should he care about all of his brothers?

Fett broke the standoff by uncrossing his arms and taking three big steps towards Wrench. The boy didn't try to evade the bounty hunter; he knew he couldn't, not with the way his legs were still shaking.

Fett grabbed him by one filthy shoulder and forcefully propelled him back towards the barbed wire, and the edge of the Sickener. "You are going to go back in there, Alpha-20 and you aren't coming out until I'm satisfied with the result. Have I made myself clear, soldier?" Fett's voice was cold, but Wrench could detect the hard edge of his anger. It made him feel better.

He pulled his shoulder free from Fett's grasp and turned back on the older man. "It's Wrench. My name is Wrench."

"Not anymore. Names are a privilege to be earned and you haven't earned anything except extra punishment details. From now on," and he turned towards the group of watching ARCs. "You're Alpha-20 and you'll remain Alpha-20 until I say otherwise. Is that understood?" He directed the question towards the watching crowd and, in unison, the other boys came to attention and answered back with: "Sir. Yes, sir!"

Fett turned back to Wrench, his helmeted face revealing nothing. "Now get back in there and don't come out until I give the order, Alpha-20."

Wrench stood and stared at the man in front of him; the man who had allowed his brother to be killed and who was, in some small way, his father, though he only had the vaguest of ideas of what that meant. He sneered at him, feeling the skin at the edge of his mouth break open even further with the motion; fresh blood washing clear tracks through the grime on his face. Wordlessly, he turned his back on Fett and the other ARCs and got back on his stomach to make his way once more through the Sickener.

* * *

**Author's Note: **The Sickener is first mentioned in the _Republic Commando _series, written by Karen Traviss. Although the books only mention the Commandos going through this exercise, I figured it was such a psychological and physical testing method, that Fett would make use of it for his ARCs as well. Anyway, I claim creative liberty and I don't think any one will protest too hard.


	14. Chapter 14: 28 BBY

**Dance to the Music**

"_Oh, oh, dancing with myself_

_When there's nothing to lose_

_And there's nothing to prove_

_And I'm dancing with myself." _

"_Dancing with Myself" by The Donnas_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 28 BBY

"See. That's him, over there." Nia's whisper was augmented by an elbow to Ro's ribs that nearly made the girl choke on her fizzy juice. Spluttering, Ro edged away from her friend until she was securely out of the pointy elbow range. Then, twisting around in her seat, she scanned the Temple's cafeteria.

"Where?" she asked.

Nia gasped in shock and quickly grabbed a fist-full of Ro's brightly colored tunic. "Ro! Don't just look. He'll see you," she said in complete mortification.

Ro extracted her tunic from Nia's blue fingers, giving her friend an indulgent and exasperated look. "If I can't look, then how am I supposed to see him?"

"Discreetly," Nia hissed at her.

Ro couldn't help it. She laughed at her friend's outrage and deliberately turned back around, searching the crowded tables and queues for the person that had so caught Nia's fancy. There, standing in line at one of the food dispensers with his Master, was Anakin Skywalker. The Chosen One.

Ro looked the boy up and down carefully, scrutinizing this Padawan who had become the talk of the Temple in the last four years. He was gangly, with dark blond hair and a physique Ro thought might fill out with age. There was something intense about his face that caught Ro's attention, something not quite…Jedi-ish. She wasn't sure what it was and the cafeteria was too crowded for her to get a fix on his emotions.

Having satisfied her curiosity, Ro gave a sniff and turned back to her tray of food. "Garett could take him," she said and that was that for Ro. The cafeteria staff was serving spice pudding today and that was far more interesting to Ro than some teenaged Padawan. She dug into the pudding with gusto, giving a happy little sigh.

Nia only rolled her eyes at Ro's dismissive attitude. "You always say that about Garett. But _he's _different," she said, with another furtive look over her shoulder at Anakin. "He's the _Chosen One, _Ro. They say he's almost as strong in the Force as Master Yoda."

Ro chewed on her latest spoonful of spice pudding, giving Nia a contemplative look. Swallowing, she began to grin. "You like him." The Pantoran's darkening blue skin was more than enough to tell Ro the truth and she gave a delighted squeal. "Uhhh, Nia. You should go talk to him. Right now." And Ro gave the other girl an encouraging push off of the bench.

Nia gripped the edge of the table, spluttering in a sudden fit of shyness. "Oh-oh no. I-I-I really couldn't. I mean, he…he's so important and so," she swallowed, the blush on her cheeks deepening. "Handsome."

Ro's grin widened before turning into a frown when she heard derisive laughter coming from further down the table. Turning, she saw Divo and Makare sitting together with three other boys. All five of them were laughing hysterically in the manner of adolescent boys that Ro had come to dislike quite a bit.

"Ohhh, he's so handsome," mimicked Divo, his voice rising to a false falsetto. The other boys cracked up. Ro looked back at Nia and saw the other girl looking down at her clasped hands, her eyes filling with tears of shame. Her cheeks were no longer darkened by a blush, but a very pale blue; her lips pressed tightly together to keep them from trembling. Ro picked up her dinner role and threw it a Divo's head.

She had put enough force behind the throw so that the soft pastry exploded into a shower of crumbs upon impacting with the Rodian's head. Instantly, the group of boys stopped laughing. Ro felt _mirth _turn to _astonishment _and then _outrage. _

Divo jumped to his feet, leaning across the table towards Ro. "You'll pay for that Arhen."

Ro grinned, then lunged forward playfully, snapping her teeth together a few inches in front of Divo's face. "I'd like to see you try."

Divo jerked back, then blushed himself as he realized what he had done. While they had been in the same clan, Divo was already a Padawan. Retreating from someone lower in the Temple's hierarchy in front of his friends was a blow to his adolescent pride that he could not tolerate. The snorts of amusement coming from three of his companions only added insult to injury.

Divo drew himself up to his full height, looking down at her with his proboscis-like mouth flexed into what Ro assumed was supposed to be a threatening snarl. Personally, she thought Divo looked more like he was having a painful bowl movement, but she kept that comment tucked firmly behind her teeth.

"You get your wish, Arhen."

Makare leaned forward at this, tugging at his fellow Padawan's sleeve. "C'mon Divo, she ain't worth it. We could get into serious trouble for fighting with an Initiate."

But Divo ignored his friend and pulled away from the Human's grasp. His antennae twitched in ire, but though he spoke to Makare, he kept his eyes fixed on Ro.

"I'm not the one who started this," Divo said and ignored the mocking eyebrow Ro raised at this statement. "And besides, she's asking for it. Not my fault no one wants to pick her as an apprentice."

Nia gasped at this insult and Makare and the other boys from the group of Padawans looked distinctly uncomfortable. Ro, for her part, merely laughed.

"What do I have to worry about? Someone picked _you, _after all."

Divo's scaly skin went from a cool green to a darker green-blue. Ro could practically taste his anger, a sensation like boiling water on her tongue.

"Dojo 5," the Rodian spat out. "In fifteen minutes." With that he shoved himself away from the table and disappeared into the crowd of eating and gossiping Jedi. Makare threw her a short glance, then hurried after his friend. The other three left, soon after.

Nia was shaking her head, her shoulder-length purple hair whipping agitatedly with the motion.

"I can't believe you did that. Ro, he's a Padawan. He'll wipe the floor with you."

Ro shrugged. "Maybe," she said and turned her attention back to her spice pudding. She wasn't about to miss out on dessert because of Divo. She had her priorities after all.

Nia watched her with disbelieving eyes. "You really aren't worried, are you?"

Licking the spoon, Ro eyed her friend in amusement. "Really Nia, after being told all your life not to worry about things you can't change, you're fretting about something like this? Divo's an idiot. And a boy." She paused at that, cocking her head slightly to the side as she considered the thought. "Although, I guess the two kinda go hand in hand. Anyway, he shouldn't be allowed to get away with making fun of people. I didn't and if he wipes the floor with me after, well…" and she gave an exaggerated shrug. "Have you seen the dojo floors recently? A good wipe down wouldn't hurt."

Nia stared at her friend, her yellow eyes wide and amazed, before shaking her head. "I can never tell whether or not you're being serious when you talk like that."

Having finished her pudding, Ro was now busy licking the bowl. Drawing her tongue over her lips to make sure she got even the last mite of pudding, Ro turned back to her friend.

"Is there a difference?"

* * *

They met in the dojo fifteen minutes later and after what seemed to Ro an unnecessary display of male teenaged hormones, she and Divo drew their lightsabers and began. After about two minutes into the duel, Ro knew she was in trouble.

Divo had the advantage of height, reach and weight, as well as the extra training that came with being a Padawan. Ro was light on her feet and naturally agile and her two lightsabers gave her a bit of an advantage. Not many Padawans Divo's age were familiar with the Jar'Kai style of fighting and his ignorance made him careful. But at the same time, Divo had nearly mastered Makashi, his preferred style of combat, whereas Ro was still trying to find her proper footing in Jar'Kai. And Divo knew how to press an advantage.

Ro grunted as Divo's blade locked with her two; blue and dark blue and purple mixing and merging where the plasma beams met. She would have thought it a pretty display at any other time, but not now, when the heat of the blades was pressing against her face. Divo grinned down at her and began putting his full weight behind his blade. The muscles in Ro's arms strained, but she felt herself unable to keep her position as she was forced to take on the weight of the older boy. Despite her best efforts, Divo was literally bringing her to her knees. She heard cheering from the other boys; saw and felt Divo's own triumph on his face and in the Force.

_No way, _she thought fiercely. _Ain't no way I'm going down just because I'm a lightweight. _

Ro threw herself to the side, turning the dive into a tuck and springing back to her feet just in time to catch Divo regaining his balance from her unexpected maneuver. The Padawan whirled to face her, but Ro had learned her lesson. She was careful now not to let the Rodian in so close again. The only problem with that tactic was that it got her nowhere. She could parry and duck to her hearts content, but sooner or later she would wear out. Divo on the other was expanding less energy than her, employing more feints and burst attacks in a bid to tire her and catch her by surprise.

Ro pranced away from a jab and blew the fringes of her bangs out of her eyes. _This ain't working, _she thought. _I can't keep up with him, but I can't get past his defenses either. _

Ro brought up her left saber to deflect a slash at her throat and tried to bring her right saber into play by exploiting the opening. But Form II was especially designed to prevent disarmament and focused on a practitioner's ability to respond and defend quickly against an attack. Divo altered the sweep of his lightsaber, so that the blade only glanced against her left saber and came to perfectly intercept her right one. Ro spun out of the Rodian's reach before he could parry and brought up her sabers in a crossed guard-pose in front of her face.

The two opponents were left to circle each other warily, waiting for an opening. _I have to try something else, _she thought, feeling sweat trickle from between her shoulder blades and down her back. _Great idea Ro. Now can you be more specific? _

Divo's feet slid across the wooden floor of the dojo, the heels of his boots making tapping motions with each tread. Ro found her left thumb tapping against her lightsaber hilt in imitation of the rhythm and for a moment, she was distracted. _Why does that sound familiar? _

Divo sensed her distraction and practically glided towards her, his blue blade a blur of movement as he attempted to get the blade between her two. Ro reacted, defending and attacking at the same time again, deflecting Divo's blade and forcing him to go back on distance. But Divo was done playing that game and he changed tactics, pressing his attack, augmenting the more defensively minded Makashi, with the more aggressive Djem So.

Ro's eyes widened in startled dismay and she had to move fast now to avoid the strikes. In her need to go on the defensive, she found herself relying less on her lightsabers and more on her quick feet. And somewhere in between dodging and ducking and getting closer to defeat, she realized why the sound of Divo's shoes against the wood had sounded so familiar. The rhythm was quite similar to a piece of music she had been listening to recently, the instrumental accompaniment to some formal dance. Unbidden, a part of her mind jumped to the memory of that music and she found it playing in her head to the sound of clashing lightsabers. And just like that, Ro felt the softest of tickling sensations against her cheek. She turned her head automatically away from the sensation, and where her head turned, her body moved and Divo's blade flashed in the corner of her eye as it missed her by an inch. She spun, keeping her blades close to her body and felt elation rise within her along with the swell of music.

Divo came at her again, but Ro felt only light amusement at his charge. Her chagrin and trepidation at the seemingly inevitable outcome of the dual had disappeared in a flurry of feathers and notes. She knew now what she had to do.

Ro adjust her stance and began to move. She no longer tried to counter Divo's attacks. Instead, she moved with them. And what had once been a fight, now turned into a choreographed dance. Whether on purpose or not, Ro realized that there was a specific rhythm to Divo's movements. Like the pattern of a dance, the lightsaber forms followed a specific set of steps and movements that adapted according to the situation. By recognizing the rhythm of these movements, Ro could almost predict Divo's next step. Like a good dance partner, she matched his movements and intent, anticipating the next steps, the next burst of rhythm. When Divo leaned forwards to thrust, she was already sliding her feet back and bending her back in a dip to conform her body to his changed position. And the sensation of feathers followed her, helped her; suggesting with the most delicate of touches where she should move next, how to position her arms, when to lift her lightsabers. All she had to do was listen.

Without knowing what she was doing, simply following the music in her head, Ro was slipping deeper into the Force than she had ever been able to. And it was…_joyous. _

And in this place of music and soft touches, she felt Divo's _triumph _turn sour and spiky. Ro didn't think about what she was going to do next. The music in her head swelled, calling for a grand finale and Ro complied. She threw both of her lightsabers high into the air; the dark blue blades drawing perfect circles in the air, edged with violet. At the same time, Ro tucked her arms close to her chest, then spun like a top, moving closer to Divo. The Rodian, his faceted eyes on her blades, missed her sudden advance and was taken by surprise when suddenly, Ro wasn't just in his range, but nearly pressed against his chest. She grinned at him, all mischief and flashing eyes and thrust out her hands, pushing against Divo's chest, while at the same time, hooking one foot around his ankle. With a startled cry, the Rodian fell backwards, his own lightsaber falling out of his hand.

Ro lifted her hands and felt the hilts of her lightsabers smack into her palms, then she brought the blades down, cross-wise, one on each side of Divo's neck.

Ro smiled widely and tossed her head back, her hair flying out behind her. "Since you're on the ground already, does that mean you'll be doing the floor-wiping, Divo?"

There was an excited, joyful squeal from Nia and the appreciative murmur from the other Padawans. Divo scowled and pushed himself to his feet. Ro let him, deactivating her lightsabers in the process.

"No fair, Arhen. You cheated."

Ro let out an exaggerated huff. "And how exactly did I do that?"

Divo pointed an accusing finger at her. "Those weren't proper lightsaber combat moves."

"C'mon Divo, give it up," one of the other Padawans said. "She beat you fair and square, no matter her footwork."

Another Padawan, an Ithorian, gave a strangled sound from one of his four throats. Ro took it as agreement.

But Divo wasn't letting it slide, turning to argue with his fellow Padawans and trying to salvage his dignity. Ro merely rolled her eyes and clipped her lightsabers back unto her belt. Why was it that boys always seemed to drop a couple of IQ points once they hit puberty? Even Garett had gone through what she called his 'stupid-stage', though he had come out of it relatively tolerable. Maybe that meant Divo would, as well.

"There's no way some pint-sized, Force-blind, pasty skinned, stick girl could beat a Padawan without using some trick."

Or, maybe not.

Coming up behind the still arguing Divo, Ro put her hands on her hips, regarding this vexing boy for a brief moment, before flicking him up-side his head. Divo spun around, his hand coming to the back of his head.

"Why don't you say that to my face, _Padawan_?" she said, drawling the title. "Or are you worried about a rematch?"

Divo snarled at her. "I ain't worried about no…"

"What is all this commotion about?"

The group of youngsters turned to see an elderly female Gran standing at the entrance of the dojo. She had her hands propped on her hips and all three eyes were glaring at them.

"I could sense you from across the Temple. Padawan," she said, addressing Divo directly, "do you care to explain?"

Ro looked at Divo, saw him swallow and his skin go a pasty, white-green. This then, she realized, must be Divo's Master.

"Master Fri," he said. "We were….I-I mean I was…well, that is…"

All sense of glee Ro might have felt at watching Divo get a dressing down from his Master fled when she saw his hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. Instead of feeling like a roiling pond, Divo now felt…reduced, trimmed almost. Small. Ro didn't like that. She had started this because Divo had made Nia feel small back in the cafeteria.

Stepping forwards, Ro interrupted Divo's stuttering attempt at explaining himself.

"I apologize for having caused a disturbance, Master Fri. I asked Padawan Divo to help me with my lightsaber training and we got carried away." She bowed respectfully to the Gran Jedi.

The Gran's three eyes narrowed at Ro, but she returned the gesture with her widest and most sincere grin, while projecting both _sincerity _as well as _chagrin. _Master Fri seemed to accept it.

"Very well. Next time, an attempt at a bit more self-control would be prudent. I expect you in the hangar bay in an hour, Padawan," she said to Divo and left.

Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief and the other three male Padawans beat a hasty retreat, while Nia and Makare remained at the dojo's entrance. Divo turned to Ro, his faceted eyes big and swirling with surprise.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because I didn't want to get in trouble," she said, then cast a sly look his way. "And besides, no one likes to get humiliated in public in front of ones friends."

Divo didn't miss her implication and he had the good grace to color and hang his head a little.

"I guess I should be apologizing to Nia."

Ro's lips kicked into a teasing half-smile. "Would be very big of you." Then she skipped off, humming the melody of her fight with Divo, her lightsabers jingling against her in gentle accompaniment. Wait till Garett heard about this!

But first, she would visit the Archives. Singing under her breath, Ro wondered if the Archives would have any educational vids on dancing.

* * *

**Author's Note: **If any one is wondering why I posted 2 chapters today, it's because something very good happened to me this week. And when something good happens to me, I like to try and make something good happen to others. Hopefully, posting an extra chapter counts.

P.S.: If any one has suggestions on improving the description of the fight scene, please send me a PM. I'm always open to constructive criticism.


	15. Chapter 15: 27 BBY

**Leaving the Nest**

"_Ain't no doubt it's a big ole world_

_But you could stay on the ground or fly girl._

_She knows things might not go her way_

_But she will not take the coulda, shoulda, wouldas to the grave."_

"_Fly Girl" by Tara Oram_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 27 BBY

Unlike most Jedi, when Ro wanted to commune with the Force, she didn't go looking for a quiet corner to sit in. She could do it, but meditating that way was, to her mind, an occupation for rainy days. That is, when the outside temperature was too cold to enjoy a proper walk through the rain.

No, when the sun was shining brightly outside and slanting just _so_ through the Temple windows, Ro had to do more than just sit and count her breaths while trying to think of nothing. On days like that, Ro's body demanded action. So instead of a quiet corner, Ro found herself an empty dojo and with the latest glimmik music pumping through the hidden speakers, she danced.

And when she moved, the Force moved with her. She never felt more closely connected to the Force, then when she was like this. Music thrumming through her veins, the bass and drums echoing the beat of her heart, her body in motion and muscles pleasantly loose from the exercise. To Ro, these times were glory. When she moved her body to the music it was as if she were dancing through a snow-flurry made entirely of feathers. And they tickled!

* * *

Ro twisted, using one foot to start the momentum, then spun on the ball of her other foot. Mid-spin, she arched her back until her long platinum blond hair brushed the dojo's floor. Still keeping the momentum of the spin going, she straightened once more, locking her hands together and then extending them far above her head. From the spin, she came down into a split, bending her upper torso sideways until her forehead pressed against her knee, arms still extended and touching her toes.

When the beat of the music changed, she threw her weight to the side, supporting her upper body with her hands, while kicking her legs up. Following the movement, she came to rest in a perfect handstand, her loose hair falling around her head and pooling on the floor. She held the position for a moment, then fell forward and straightened, her feet landing securely on the ground once more. She executed a quarter turn, then bounded towards a bench in the middle of the dojo. She leaped up, corkscrewing in the air, before landing on the surface of the bench. Keeping her hands crossed over her chest and her feet together, she got up onto the balls of her feet and pirouetted until she reached the end of the bench. Once there, she leapt one more time. Holding her arms out to her sides like wings, she kept her head high and her chest arched forwards. One leg was bent, while the other was kept straight and trailed behind her in a perfect Swan's Leap.

When she landed, she brought her hands together, palm to palm, then brought them over head, before slowly lowering them to her chest. Her upper body followed the movement until she stood there, feet and palms together as the music began to fade away, in a half-bow to an invisible audience. Or, at least she'd thought so.

The clap of hands sounding over the pounding of the next glimmik song startled Ro and without hesitating she straightened on the spot to face the intruder, hands automatically falling to her hips and her lightsabers. Except, she wasn't wearing her lightsabers. They were in a corner by the door, along with a towel and water flask.

"That was very good. And I don't just mean the dancing. You have quick reflexes."

The speaker was a woman, a Zeltron, her light pink skin and blue hair in sharp contrast to her beige and brown Jedi robes. Looking at her, Ro was for a moment overcome with a feeling of familiarity. Had she seen this woman before? Zeltron Jedi were a rare sight, and the woman was so strikingly beautiful that surely Ro would have remembered her if they'd ever met before.

The Zeltron smiled at her. "Something I said?"

"What? Oh no." And Ro quickly lowered her eyes and bowed to the other Jedi. "I apologize for staring, it's just…" she hesitated uncertainly. "You reminded me of someone."

The Jedi's smile turned rueful. "I always remind people of someone. It is an effect we Zeltron tend to have on people." She gave a light wave of one hand and the glimmik music stopped, making conversation easier. "Do you know who I remind you of?" The Zeltron asked and cocked her head to the side in a move that made her look both coquettish and inquisitive to Ro.

"I…" she hesitated again, trying to recapture that sense of the familiar. There had been something, a distant memory resurfacing, when she had first caught sight of the blue-haired Zeltron. Ro furrowed her brow in thought, trying to bring the image to the surface of her conscious mind. There was the impression of warmth and love, and the idea of a voice she had liked to listen to, but that was all.

She shook her, dispelling the memory. "I'm sorry Master, but no. I do seem to remember something or someone, but the memory is too faded for me to see clearly."

The Zeltron smiled her dazzling smile again and corrected gently. "I'm no Master, youngling. My name is Sarika Adriav and I am a Jedi Knight."

She stepped further into the dojo, bending down gracefully to retrieve the water flask, without breaking her stride. She handed it to Ro when she came to stand before the girl, looking at her thoughtfully.

"I have been told that one of the Initiates has displayed signs of Force-empathy. As a Zeltron, I believe I would be best suited to train this Initiate, to show her how to harness and control her talent."

Ro's fingers holding the flask tightened until her knuckles turned white. Despite having already taken a drink from the flask, her mouth was suddenly as dry as the Tatooine desert.

"Me," she whispered. "You came to see me. T-to train…" she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, there was just too much hope welling inside of her. While she had come to accept her future role as a member of the AgriCorps, she'd found that some dreams did not die easily. And to be a Jedi Guardian, a defender of the weak and the light, had been a dream of hers for so long; one she had secretly nursed even after all of her clan mates had been picked as Padawans by passing Knights and Masters, leaving her alone in their dormitory.

As if she were a fairy-godmother come to life from one of the old youngling flimsi books to grant her heart's deepest desire, Knight Adriav smiled down at the girl. "Yes, Roweena. I have come to find you. I intend to take you as my Padawan and guide your training until you are ready to take the Trials."

Ro just couldn't help herself. She flung herself at Knight Adriav – her new Master! – and hugged the older woman firmly around the waist. She felt the Zeltron stiffen, then forcefully relax, awkwardly patting her on the head. Ro felt distinctive waves of _surprise_ and _embarrassment_ coming off of the Zeltron, but didn't care. She was going to be a Padawan and someday a Knight!

Knight Adriav disentangled herself from her new student, her pink skin, in a shade as delicate as rose quartz, a slightly deeper shade now, but she got herself quickly back under control. Ro envied the woman's mastery of her emotions. She sincerely hoped her new Master could teach her how to do that.

"Yes, well," and Master Adriav cleared her throat to bridge the slightly awkward moment. "We have quite a bit to discuss, so why don't you gather your things and accompany me back to my quarters. Afterwards, we can get you settled in your new room."

"Yes, Master Adriav. Right away, Master Adriav. You won't regret this, I promise." And Ro accompanied each usage of the title with another bow. She just couldn't keep herself from smiling. Bounding over to get her things, she followed Master Adriav back to her rooms with a bounce in her steps.

It was only three days before her thirteenth birthday.

* * *

Ro watched through a mirror, as Master Adriav first combed her long hair, then began to weave individual strands together. As she worked, Master Adriav talked. She explained to Ro that she had been absent from the Temple for quite a long time, stationed in the Outer Rim, while overseeing the peace negotiations between two long-warring factions. The mission had taken longer than anticipated, as the two factions kept violating the peace accords by smuggling in illegal arms and engaging in guerrilla wars deep in the jungle. She'd been forced to root out every one of these insurgent groups, while using the pheromones that were a part of her people's empathic abilities to create a sense of calm and mutual conciliation between the faction leaders.

Ro listened to this tale, wide-eyed and tried to imagine herself alone on a distant world, trying single-handedly to keep a civilization from erupting into bloody war. It was both wonderful and frightening.

"I haven't been a Knight for very long, and because my missions tend to be rather involved, I haven't had the opportunity to take a Padawan yet. So, you'll be my first." The smile that was reflected back at Ro through the mirror was both bright and hopeful and reminded Ro a little of Nia whenever she waited for the approval of one of their teachers on an assignment. "I'm sure the two of us will get along beautifully." She tapped Ro lightly on the shoulder. "Alright, I'm finished."

Ro brought her attention away from her new Master and back to herself. She studied her reflection in the mirror above Master Adriav's vanity. Her hair, normally left unbound to hang around her face and torso, had been pulled back and pleated into a severe braid. It left her face oddly naked and vulnerable, with only the thin Padawan braid to frame it. It, like the rest of her hair, had also been neatly woven together, with not a single hair escaping. Her bangs, usually falling into her eyes in an uncoordinated mess, had been trimmed earlier and were now cut short and straight across her forehead. Letting her eyes travel downwards, she regarded the top of her plain beige robe and brown tunic. Another change, considering her usual choice of wardrobe; batik tunics in a wide and wild array of colors, with darker leggings beneath. Not the standard wardrobe for a Jedi, but certainly far more comfortable for dancing and jumping and certainly prettier to look at.

The girl staring back at her from the mirror was hardly recognizable as the girl who had danced only hours before in the dojo. The girl in the mirror looked to Ro like the picture of an ideal Padawan. She glanced at the reflection of her Master. Just like Master Adriav looked like the ideal Jedi Knight.

It was strange. Although Ro had often dreamed of becoming a Padawan, she had rarely thought about what her potential Master would be like. She had had her wild moments of fancy, where she imagined being picked by one of the members of the Council. Or, most often, she had imagined herself as the Padawan to Master Kynte, who had been so kind to her on the day he had assigned her to the Squall Clan. But somehow, Master Adriav did and did not fit her rather vague imaginings.

She cast her eyes around the parts of the Zeltron's rooms she could see in the mirror. They were nothing out of the ordinary. The apartment looked just like any pre-furnished living area in the Temple; tasteful but plain, everything kept to the barest of necessities. The quarters of a Jedi Knight were slightly larger than those of a mere Padawan. Ro would have a small room to herself, outfitted with a pallet and a small corner 'fresher. But although small, Ro had already made plans on how to make the room more hers. She had colors picked out for the walls, designs she wanted to paint, pictures she wanted to hang. Every Jedi was allowed to add such things, slight touches of comfort or a testament to their heritage. Ro was interested, and a little disheartened, to see that her Master had added no personal touches to her living quarters. The living room and small kitchenette had looked no different than some of the empty apartments Ro had seen, except for the general sense of being lived in that rooms seemed to acquire with their occupants. The small bedroom, positioned off to one side, was no different. The bed had been neatly made up and the vanity, the only other piece of furniture in the bedroom, was free of clutter except for a brush. But the walls were bare and the carpet on the floor regular issue from the Temple stores. If she'd had to pick a word to describe her surroundings, Ro would have said, beige.

It was just...odd. Ro had never encountered a Zeltron before, but from her studies, she had always imagined a species prone to color, to fun and to deep, though sometimes brief, bouts of passion. But the only colorful thing in the room capable of inspiring any sort of passionate response was her new Master. Her light, pink skin was off-set by hair of such a dark blue, it was almost black. And her eyes were an almost glowing shade of amber. And she was beautiful of course, like practically any Zeltron was. But somehow, the entire effect was blunted by the severe cut of her robes and the neat bun at the base of her neck that she kept her hair in. It was almost, as if both the room and her appearance were a deliberate attempt to deflect attention away from her. Ro wondered at that.

Master Adriav's brilliant smile turned a little puzzled in the mirror and Ro felt a quick spike of _anxiety _from the Zeltron, before it was quickly controlled. Ro struggled for a moment with her doubts, not wanting to muddy what was supposed to be one of the best days of her life with such negative emotions. She quickly reassessed the room around her.

_She did mention she wasn't often in the Temple. Maybe she just never had time to get settled in._ That made sense and reassured the girl enough to muster a smile for her Master's reflection. "It look's great." And it did. It just didn't look like her.

Master Adriav beamed with pleasure and Ro felt the air around her lighten. "Wonderful. Just you wait and see, I'll turn you into a proper Jedi in no time."

Ro's smile held, but something inside of her twinged a little at the Zeltron's words. She regarded her reflection again, trying to draw a connection between herself and the severe looking girl staring back at her from the mirror. _I guess I'll get used to it,_ she thought and buried whatever doubts she had beneath her earlier excitement. What did it matter how her Master dressed or how she did or did not decorate her living quarters? What mattered was that she even had a Master and one who was just as empathic as she was. She would finally have someone who could explain things to her, who could show her how to control this rather wild and sometimes unpredictable talent. This was an important step and Ro was determined not to let a little beige ruin the overall effect.

She was finally a Padawan. That was all that mattered.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, Jedi Knight Sarika Adriav is one of my OC's. I wanted a Master for Ro, who would take a particular interest in Ro's one strong Force-ability and a Zeltron was the most logical choice. Since I could find only one reference to a Zeltron Jedi active during the time, I figured I'd best create my own character, rather than mess with a preexisting one, where there wasn't much information to properly portray the character. Sarika, by the way, is a Hindu name and means 'beautiful thing', though I've also found sources translating the name as 'bird' or 'princess'. Either way, I thought it rather fitting.

The Swan's Leap is a dance move described in Tamora Pierce's book _Magic Steps_.


	16. Chapter 16: 27 BBY

**Instincts and Training**

"_And when I heard you let him die_

_And made the world all wonder why_

_I sat at home and on my own,_

_I cried alone_

_And scratched your name on the side of bullet" _

"_Side of a Bullet" by Nickelback_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 27 BBY

He licked his lips, feeling them crack and bleed. The coppery tang of blood on his tongue nearly made him gag, but he needed the moisture. His mouth felt so dry, he thought he could use his tongue as kindling.

"_A trooper's loyalty is to the Grand Army. The Grand Army is loyal to the Republic. The Republic is served by the Chancellor. The Chancellor is the highest authority in the Grand Army…" _

The booming voice echoed through the speakers mounted at strategic intervals throughout the training room. The words reverberated in the still, hot air and bounced off of the polished durasteel walls, glaring painfully in the heat. The endless loop of recitation of the Command Code was beginning to give Wrench a headache. Either that, or he was more dangerously dehydrated than he had thought initially.

Sweat rolled down his face and body in small rivulets, though he tried to ignore it even as the beads dropped from his lashes and stung his eyes. He had to keep his concentration on the task before him. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could leave the training area and the oppressive heat and the annoying voice from the speakers.

Under normal circumstances, the task of disassembling and then reassembling various blasters would have been easy. The movements were so familiar Wrench could do them in his sleep. But of course, as an ARC, simply being able to put together a blaster wasn't enough. As the best of the best of the best, an ARC was expected to complete even the most difficult task under the most extreme of circumstance. And forcing a group of boys to sit in a room heated to fifty degrees centigrade at least, was about as extreme as you could get.

"_The integrity of the Grand Army relies on the command structure. A trooper's duty is to uphold the command structure. To uphold the command structure, orders must be obeyed, rank respected." _

It wasn't just the heat that was getting to him. The air was so thick, Wrench felt like he was trying to breathe in solid matter. No matter how hard he tried, whether he breathed through his nose or gasped the air in through his mouth, his lungs never seemed to gather enough oxygen. And when Fett or one of the other training sergeants walked by, their passage disturbed the air and blew hot pockets of it into his face. It burned his nostrils and lungs, tightened the skin of his face. He was also becoming dizzy from dehydration.

Wrench knew he was loosing too much water. His fatigues clung to his skin in dark patches, the cloth more brown than red from his sweat. And instead of cooling him off, his body's natural response to the heat was adding to his physical agony. The sweat dried much too quickly on his skin and left behind tiny salt crystals that stung when coming into contact with his cracked lips. And the soaked material of his fatigues was uncomfortably warm against skin that was already as hot as in a fever pitch. And his scalp itched. His hair was nothing more than stubble, so he at least did not have to suffer from dank hair clinging to his forehead. But the skin beneath was becoming irritated from the amount of sweat constantly flowing from it and drying there at the same time. It was not the worst of his agonies, but it was the most persistent and irritating one.

"_Obedience to orders is the key to survival. A trooper must obey orders to survive. A trooper must survive to carry out his duty to the Republic for as long as possible." _

Wrench fumbled for the last piece of the blaster he was reassembling. He had to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud in pain. The plastoid had become superheated from the room's temperature and burned the skin on the palm of his hand and fingers. Wrench grit his teeth and tried to ignore the pain. It didn't matter; his hands were already covered in minor burns and blisters. He'd already reassembled a DC-15S blaster, a DC-15A blaster rifle and a WESTAR-M5. The DC-17 hand blaster was the last weapon of the collection spread out before him. All he had to do was reattach the slide, secure the powerpack and he could get out of this hell. The thought of a cold shower and a very long, cold drink of water were all that kept him going at this point.

So, ignoring the heated plastoid that was scorching his skin, Wrench tried to reattach the slide to the hand blaster's frame. Except, the slide slipped in his sweaty palm and caught on the recoil spring. It jammed.

Wrench could have cried, if he'd had the liquid to spare. Trying to keep his hands steady, he slowly began to work the slide free of the recoil spring. Hurrying now would just mean more mistakes. He reached for his tools, selecting one of the picks, and carefully began working the slide free. Someone groaning and the sound of a body hitting the floor drew his attention. Alpha-98 – Nate - had apparently fainted from the heat, falling backwards from his bench to land on the heated durasteel floor. Sprawled on the floor, his body began to seize, white froth coming from his mouth. Two of the trainers were rushing towards him, one calling loudly for a medic.

"_A trooper is the servant of the Republic. His duty requires dedication in the face of great adversity. A trooper's duty requires sacrifice." _

Wrench, distracted by Nate, unintentionally loosened his grip on the blaster. The slide suddenly sprang free of the recoil spring and, catching the ARC unawares, sliced open his left palm with one of its sharp sides.

"_Haar'chak_! _Di'kutla skanah_." He cursed and dropped both blaster and slide, nursing his injured palm. The cut was long, starting at the flesh between his thumb and forefinger and running all the way down, nearly to his wrist. But he didn't think the cut was too deep; mostly skin and muscle, rather than sinew. But it bled quite badly and the sweat on his palm made the wound burn like fire.

"_Haran_," he added, just for good measure.

"Sloppy work, Alpha-20."

Wrench squeezed his injured hand into a fist, using the pain to distract himself from the voice behind him. He picked up the slide again, ignoring the blood now running through his fingers. When the droplets hit the durasteel tabletop, they dried out and hardened almost instantly. The hot slide in his hand caused an ugly stench to rise from his palm. Wrench had never smelled burnt blood before, but he knew he would not forget it ever again.

"Look at you, boy. Heat up the room a little and you start sweating and fumbling like a greenie trying to bed a Zeltron cafarel for the first time."

Wrench still didn't turn around; his focus was on repositioning the slide. He didn't have to see Fett's face to know the man was sneering beneath his helmet. And Fett would be wearing his helmet, because without it, the environmental controls in his armor wouldn't work.

_And we wouldn't want that, no sir. Wouldn't want the great Jango Fett sweating in a 'little heat'. _His thoughts were almost as hot as the thick air around him and far more acid.

"_To fight and die for the Republic is the highest honor a trooper can achieve. A trooper must prove himself worthy of that honor. A trooper must always be aware of the honor he is being given, to fight and die for a greater cause." _

"C'mon Alpha-20, move your _shebse_. My dead grandmother could assemble a blaster faster than you."

_Let's see how your grandmother likes this, _he thought and reattached the slide with a small, but satisfying _click. _Wrench didn't give himself time to think. He grabbed the powerpack, lying to the right of him, jammed it into the slot and aimed the loaded blaster at Fett.

It was a useless gesture and Wrench knew it even before he had completed the maneuver. He was sitting on a bench attached to the worktable in front of him. He couldn't stand, at least not quickly enough to matter, so he had to twist around in his seat in order to take a potshot at Fett. He was also sluggish and dizzy from the heat, and his sudden movement caused the edges of his vision to go alarmingly grey. But it was worth it to hear the startled intake of breath coming from Fett's helmet speakers and to see the man flinch back involuntarily.

Wrench pulled the trigger, though he knew it was already too late. He knew, rather better than most of the other clones, just how fast Fett's reflexes were. As soon as he had caught the distinctive movement of a body leveling a blaster at him, Fett had begun to move to the side.

The shot went past him, barely; the blue plasma contrasting for one second with the lighter blue and grey of Fett's armor. Wrench didn't wait to see where it hit. Like the well-trained shooter that he was, he had already started taking aim again as soon as he had pulled the trigger.

Wrench followed Fett's body, caught sight of the distinctive helmet, began to pull the trigger a second time…

"Check!"

The order went through Wrench like a cold drenching. His body froze, his muscled tensed, the barest pressure away from firing his next shot. The preconditioned order had stopped him in his tracks for a few vital seconds. More than enough time for Fett to pounce on him like an enraged nek.

Fett's armored shoulder slammed into Wrench's side, driving the air from his body and pinning him painfully between the table's edge and Fett's unrelenting armored body. The bounty hunter tore the DC-17 from his hand and, putting a little distance between them, pistol-whipped the boy across the face. The blow caught Wrench in the temple and for a moment, his world went dark, with tiny bursts of light at the edges, before his body impacting first with the bench, then with the floor brought him back to painful awareness. There was blood coursing down his face, a pounding ache in his head and looking up he saw the blurry, tripled image of Fett standing above him. The hand blaster aimed at his head. Wrench blinked a few times and the image coalesced into a single, more solid Fett, though otherwise it stayed the same.

"Need some help there, Jango?" One of the other training sergeants, Cort Davin, came over to them, his helmet tilted slightly to the side as he took in the scene.

"Keep out of this Davin," Fett snarled. "Everything's under control."

"Really?" Davin drawled. "Because it looked to me like the kid very nearly shot you. Twice."

"Get back to your work," Fett ordered. "That goes for all of you!" He added, turning slightly towards the rows of tables occupied by a mass of staring, gaping, sweating boys. The volume of his external speakers made Wrench flinch and grasp at his head in an attempt to stem the echoing pain there. But even as he issued the command, Fett made sure not to let Wrench out of his line of sight. Nor did the blaster still aimed at Wrench's head waver an inch.

Overhead, the amplified voice still droned through the speakers, repeating its mantra of the Command Code.

"_A trooper's loyalty is to the Grand Army. The Grand Army is loyal to the Republic…." _

Fett stepped closer to him, the blaster steady in his grip. "Think you're pretty tough, don't you, Alpha-20?"

Wrench didn't reply. He merely jerked one corner of his mouth upwards in a slight smile, knowing the scar there would turn the mocking half-smile into a disparaging sneer. _And if it hadn't been for the safety command, _he thought, _you'd be sporting some interesting new char marks on that pretty armor of yours. _

Fett was now standing directly above him, the blaster aimed at a point between Wrench's eyes.

"You got guts, I'll give you that, Alpha-20." He said, his voice almost too low to hear. "But guts alone won't win the battle. You want to survive, you'd better start to learn to pick your fights." He made a gesture with the blaster and Wrench, understanding, began to get to his feet. He kept his movements slow and cautious because of the blaster and the sick, faint feeling spreading through his body. He was panting from his exertions, his muscles shaking and cramping from the heat and dehydration. When he got to his feet, he had a very bad moment where the training room began to spin in one direction, while the looming figure of Fett began to turn the opposite way. Fighting the vertigo, he had to reach out a steadying hand and grasp the heated edge of one of the tables. The world spun for one alarming moment more and Wrench wondered if he was going to faint or throw up. If the latter, he determined he would make sure to do it over Fett's polished boots.

"I think," Fett drawled. "The best thing for you right now is a chance to cool off. Maybe a few laps around the landing platform in Kamino's fine weather will get rid of some of that hot blood."

He gestured with the blaster towards the door leading out of the training room. Wrench glanced past Fett and towards his fellow ARCs. None were looking at him, their eyes fixed downwards and concentrating on putting their blasters back together. For a moment, he felt very alone.

Thoughts of Asher threatened to overtake him, but he pushed them away, focusing instead on his anger. The familiar sensation washed over him, momentarily driving away the pain in his head, helping him to think clearly. He clenched his fists, but knew he couldn't go another round with Fett. He was too weak. He'd be lucky if he survived the laps in the freezing rain. But he'd had him; he'd almost had Fett.

"_The integrity of the Grand Army relies on the command structure. A trooper's duty is to uphold the command structure. To uphold the command structure, orders must be obeyed, rank respected. Obedience to orders is the key to survival. A trooper must obey orders to survive." _

Except, Wrench could have died, because he had followed an order. In those few seconds in which he had been immobilized by the safety command, Fett could have easily shot him.

As he turned towards the door, trying hard not to drag his feet, Wrench thought about that. He could hear and feel the heavier tread of Fett's armored boots against the floor and thought again of the feeling he'd had of knowing the bounty hunter had been in his line of fire. If only his body hadn't reacted to that order.

_Next time, _he vowed, _an order won't save you Fett. I won't obey orders blindly again. I won't let myself. _The thought sustained him through the following hours of his punishment.

* * *

**Translation**: _haar'chak_ = damn it, _di'kutla skanah_ = stupid thing, whereby _skanah_ refers to a particularly hated thing or person, _haran_ = hell or literally destruction.

The Mando'a is thanks to mandoa dot org.


	17. Chapter 17: 26 BBY

**Burned Once, Twice Scorched **

"_Love is a burning thing_

_And it makes a fiery ring._

_Bound by wild desire_

_I fell into a ring of fire."_

"_Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash_

* * *

Taanab, Pandath city, 26 BBY

Ro's initial curiosity about Tanaab had been limited to the local AgriCorps chapter house. The idea of being able to explore a place she herself might very well have ended up in, intrigued Ro and she had bombarded Master Adriav with questions during the entire journey there. Even the beauty of hyperspace hadn't been able to distract her, until Master Adriav had, rather irritably, suggested she might benefit from some meditation and personal reflection. Wisely, Ro had taken the hint and had spent the remaining hours of their journey researching Tanaab on her own.

When they landed in Pandath city, the planet proved to be exactly what Ro's research had revealed; an agricultural planet of no greater significance to the Republic. She thought the wide, grassy plains were rather nice, and the abundance of sunlight and the mild climate put her in an immediate good mood. Helping the local AgriCorps train the citizens of Tanaab to defend themselves against the seasonal pirate raids would be, if not exciting, at least be a pleasant task.

That was, until Ro fell in love.

* * *

His name was Tanib Madrassa and he was the son of the local representative of Core Foodstuffs. Born to a position of privilege on a planet dependent on the financial backing of such agricultural conglomerates, Tanib's life had been planned out for him well before his birth. He was well educated, schooled in the myriad forms of social decorum necessary to navigate through the patchwork of cultures that made up the Republic and to Ro, the handsomest male she had ever seen.

Being the leader of one of the local youth brigades and the son of a member of the governing council, he had been among the welcoming party that had greeted her and Master Adriav. The Humans of Tanaab prized formality and Ro had been concentrating very hard on maintaining a proper air of dignity and formal reserve when she had straightened from her bow to look into Tanib's grey-blue eyes.

Ro thought she would melt on the spot. Her knees went weak and she forgot all the polite social phrases she had memorized. All she could do was look into Tanib's handsome face, with his high cheekbones, fine nose and eyebrows, and gape like a gooberfish.

Master Adriav came to her rescue, laying a hand on her shoulder and using the Force to direct feelings of _calm _and _assurance_ towards her.

"You must forgive my Padawan," she told Tanib, her voice pleasantly low and husky. "As Jedi, we are required to learn the social customs of many cultures. It can become difficult at times to remember the proper ones for the occasion."

"I understand." Tanib replied and sent Ro such a dizzyingly dazzling smile, she thought she would faint. "When I have to sit in on one of father's meetings, I sometimes have to consult a datapad to be sure wether or not I have to shake hands or wiggle my toes." His smile widened, inviting Ro to share the joke.

She had managed to squeak some kind of affirmative, feeling both relieved at Master Adriav's intervention and mortified he might think her an absolute imbecile.

In the coming weeks she and Master Adriav spent training the locals, Ro realized that Tanib didn't think her a fool. It was much worse. If he ever thought of her at all, she discovered, he thought her a child.

* * *

Ro stood in front of the mirror situated in the room provided to her by the AgriCorps. It was floor length, set in an intricately carved wooden frame. A rather unexpected piece of frivolity in the otherwise utilitarian room.

She leaned forward slightly, studying her reflection intensely. She tilted her head this way and that, analyzing what she saw - what Tanib had seen these past three weeks.

She wasn't beautiful and Ro knew beautiful. When your Master was a Zeltron, you tended to develop a quick understanding of what compromised physical beauty and its effect on others. When Master Adriav walked into a room, heads literally turned in her direction. It wasn't just her remarkable flawless skin with its pale pink tint, or the eye-catching shade of her blue hair. Her face was perfect. Heart-shaped and delicate, with fine lips and a dimpled smile, Master Adriav would have attracted males and females of all species even without the generous curves not even her severe Jedi robes could hide.

Ro didn't have curves. She was fourteen and her chest was still quite flat. She had long legs, well formed from years of dancing and lightsaber exercises, but she was short and had the figure of a boy. Master Adriav had told her this would change in a few more years, but Ro wasn't so sure about that. And her face…

Ro brought the palm of one hand up to her cheek, watching the image in the mirror imitate the action. No, she wasn't beautiful. Her chin was too round and stubborn for beauty, her nose small and slightly upturned at the tip. When she smiled, there were no dimples. But her skin was smooth, with a healthy out-door's tan and her eyes, while not exquisite, were a definite pleasing shape and she had always liked their color. Not many Humans had eyes the color of teal.

Ro lifted the hand resting against her cheek and ran it through her long, pale hair. It wasn't an exotic shade like Master Adriav's, but the platinum blond suited her face and after being confined in a braid for so long, the usually straight fall of hair had acquired a slight wave. She let it drape around her form, watched how it all ran past her shoulders and down her back. Looking back at her mirror image, Ro thought, _No. Not beautiful, but pretty certainly. _So why couldn't Tanib see that?

Ro sighed and stood away from the mirror. The past few weeks had been utterly frustrating. She had done her best to be friendly with Tanib, encouraging him to call her by name instead of 'Padawan Arhen' and trying to make up for her blunder at the welcoming ceremony.

But Tanib continued referring to her by her full title, never breaking the strict formalities of his culture. He was polite and attentive when she spoke and paid close attention when she led one of the self-defense classes, but he never singled her out from the other Jedi. She never caught him stealing secretive glances at her, like she saw most of the males doing with Master Adriav – and like she was doing with him. He never asked her to go for a walk in one of the various parks of Pandath or to sit with her in one of the local cantinas. He never touched her casually, only during a training exercise, even though she yearned to take his hand, run her fingers through his hair, or touch his face…

Ro shook her head to free herself of these thoughts, sending her hair flying. The worst thing, she decided, was that Tanib didn't **feel **anything towards her. He felt _polite_ and _friendly_ to her, but she never caught any flashes of _heat _or _yearning _when he looked at her.

It wasn't until their second week in Pandath, that she figured out why. She had been sitting high up in one of the trees circling the sports facility Master Adriav had designated as their training ground. Summer was in full swing on Tanaab and the tree's foliage was so thick, it turned the light around Ro a wonderfully blooming green and the bark had felt deliciously warm against her back. When she'd heard others passing by her tree, she had immediately recognized Tanib and the voices of several members of his youth brigade. She had wanted to call to them, when she had heard her name mentioned by one of the other boys.

"…dwan Arhen seems like a nice enough person. She certainly knows backflips."

There was a consenting murmur, then Tanib's voice. "Her skills are impressive for someone so small. I never thought she would have been able to throw Ritker like that. And she is a nice kid."

The pride she had felt at his earlier words had deflated almost instantly at his last statement. A kid? That's how he saw her? They were only two years apart!

Ro had listened to the group pass by on their way to training, thinking about what she had heard. She had resolved right then and there to show Tanib that he was wrong, that she was as mature as he was and worthy of being noticed as a female and not some **kid. **

Which was how she had ended up here, in front of the mirror. A week had passed and she was no closer in convincing Tanib that she was not too young for his attentions. She had done everything she could think of: imitating the way some of the older girls in the city walked, trying to make those elegant hand gestures Master Adriav used, curbing her naturally bubbly and enthusiastic nature, as well as her tendency to babble when she got nervous. She had even kept her hair in its braid, thinking it made her look both older and more poised.

Even Master Adriav had begun to comment on the change in her Padawan's behavior, but Tanib remained as oblivious as ever.

Ro let out a frustrated breath, blowing imaginary bangs from her eyes. How dense could a man get? And what was a girl supposed to do, when she failed to catch someones eye? Ro's only experience with boys was limited to her brother and the male members of her clan. And she had certainly never wanted them to notice her. At least, not in **that **way.

No longer wanting to look at herself in the mirror, Ro turned her attention to the room, hoping for some spark of inspiration. She did a slow circuit of it, letting her hands graze the furniture, biting her bottom lip and thinking. What to do? Behaving more maturely was obviously not working. And when something wasn't working, then you tried something else.

"Wonderful," she muttered to herself. "And what would that something else be? Knock him on the head and drag him back to my room?" She rolled her eyes at this. "Master Adriav would just love that." Then, in a lower voice she added, "And it's not exactly romantic."

She did a second circuit, this time including the mirror and letting her fingers dance briefly over its cool surface.

"Maybe I should raid Master Adriav's stash of holo-romance novels." She grimaced at the idea. "Nah, wouldn't work. I'm not supposed to know about those." And could she really act like one of the heroines in those stories? She somehow doubted it. For one, she didn't think she had the courage to put on a lacy nightgown during a soft summer rain and throw herself into Tanib's arms. She got the quacking shivers just thinking about taking his hand. And for another...what would her Master say?

With a frustrated cry she flung herself face-first onto her bed, burrowing her face into the pillow. There was no way around it. She would have to continue her crush in silence, contending herself with secret glances and nightly fancies. Ro groaned into the pillow. May the Force be with her.

* * *

"I need to talk to you, right now. In private."

The words made her heart leap into her throat. Tanib was looking down at her, his handsome face earnest, his grey-blue eyes locked onto her face.

"Sure, anything," she breathed out. Training for the day was over and the others were already filing out of the gym into the afternoon sunlight, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Master Adriav shot them a glance, frowning slightly and made as if to intercept them. But one of the senior AgriCorps members called to her and Ro saw with some relief her Master exiting the gym with the others.

Tanib took her by the elbow and guided her through a side entrance of the gym into a corridor, less lighted and deserted. The touch of his hand made her shiver in delight and she blushed. She wondered what he had to say to her that would require privacy. In the last few days, just as their mission was coming to a close, Ro thought she could detect a change in Tanib and his behavior towards her. At first, she had put it down to wishful thinking. Her feelings had not abated over time, but she had continued to remain silent on the subject, just as she had determined in her bedroom the week before. But then, in recent days, she had caught him staring at her from time to time, an odd, glazed expression in his eyes. She didn't know how to interpret that look, but she had hoped…Well, she wasn't sure what she had hoped for. This was still so new to her.

"Ro, I need…" The usage of her nickname made her draw in a sharp breath and a pleasant butterfly-sensation spread through her stomach. She was giddy and excited and a little sick all at once and the feelings suddenly emanating from Tanib where overwhelmingly intense. She was so caught up in her feelings, she did not realize that he had trailed off. Then he kissed her.

The feel of his lips against hers was almost too much and far better than she had ever imagined. They were soft and the pressure of the kiss made her breathless. She felt his hands on her shoulders, felt him lean in more towards her. The scent of him, the feel of him was wonderful. She wasn't sure why this was all happening and didn't care. If she died now, she would die happy.

He broke the kiss and they were both left gasping.

"What are you doing to me?"

"What?" his words didn't fully register with her, she was still too caught up in the excitement and joy of her very first kiss. She blinked up at him, saw his face twist into a momentary mask of confusion and…and _fear. _

Then his mouth was back on hers, the second kiss even more intense then the first. The sensations racing over her skin was like being hot and cold at the same time. His hands slipped away from her shoulders, came to rest on her waist and Ro felt a sudden surge of _desperation _and _need _from him. The intensity of the feelings scared her and she made as if to push to him away when the voice of her Master rang through the corridor.

"Ro, get away from him!" Before she could respond, Master Adriav's hand grasped her shoulder, pulling her out of Tanib's grip, before she had time to fully comprehend what was happening. The stinging slap to her cheek made her stumble backwards. Ro was too stunned to react. Master Adriav had never hit her; none of the Masters at the Temple had.

"Go to your quarters Ro and wait for me there." Master Adriav's voice sounded brittle and tense, both _furious _and _frightened. _Ro looked from her tight face to Tanib, who was standing in the middle of the corridor, his face dazed and blank. Even as she watched, he lifted a hand to his head in slow motion, groaning slightly as if he were suffering from an intense headache.

Ro felt a similar pain beginning to bloom in her own head, working itself from her temples to behind her ears. She felt oddly disoriented, as if she had lost a thread she had been holding on to.

"Master, what…"

"Don't talk Ro." Master Adriav hissed at her. "Just go." Then she turned towards Tanib, now exuding _concern _as well as _fear. _

Ro fled.

* * *

The sun had already set, when her Master returned. For a few minutes, Master Adriav did nothing but stare at her, as Ro sat on her bed. Ro was still nursing her aching cheek and head, but dared not complain. There was something about her Master's face that frightened her more than the slap had.

"Do you have any idea what you did to that poor boy?" Her voice broke the tense silence and made Ro shrink away from the Zeltron.

"I didn't…I mean, I don't think…"

Master Adriav cut her off. "No Ro, you didn't think. You **felt. **And as a result, you might have permanently harmed that boy."

Her words made Ro's head reel. What did her Master mean? Harmed Tanib how?

"I don't understand."

Master Adriav sighed and some of the anger left her face. "You glamoured him Ro. You let your feelings for that boy become so strong, they overwhelmed him." Master Adriav's face darkened, the pigmentation becoming more red than pink. Ro tried to sense what her Master was feeling towards her, but it was like having an iron door shut in her face. "You wanted him to like you, you desired him and your will made it so. You took control over his emotions for you. You manipulated him, Ro. You took away his free will."

The more she spoke, the more Ro inched away from her until her back hit the headboard of the bed. She didn't even realize she was crying.

"No." She denied the accusation, shaking her head vehemently. "No, I'd never. I didn't want that. I just…"

"It doesn't matter what you did or did not intend to do Ro. The point is, you did it. You manipulated another sentient being in order to get what you wanted." She crossed her arms over her chest, her amber eyes never leaving Ro. "It is the path to the dark side."

Ro looked down at her hands, unable to look her Master in the face. "Will, will he be alright?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Master Adriav sighed. "I don't know Ro. It might be he'll recover. It might be that you have caused a fixation, that he is so filled with your feelings for him, he will never be able to desire another."

Ro shuddered, then looked up as a shadow fell over her. Master Adriav stood by the bed, looking down at her Padawan. The expression on her face was stern, but also sad and regretful. "I should have seen this coming. You are at that age when both your empathic abilities and your feelings mature and intensify. I was the same at your age. But the damage is done and we will have to act accordingly."

"Act?" Ro asked, hopeful. Perhaps, Master Adriav knew of a way to set things right. She was a Jedi Knight, after all.

"We will have to stay here a while longer, so that I can work with Tanib and limit the damage." She reached out and grasped Ro's chin with her slender fingers. "And I will work with you, to make sure nothing like this will ever happen again. I will not let a Padawan of mine walk such a thin line between light and dark."

Ro swallowed. "How?"

"By creating a mental block, in order to keep your empathic powers at bay. There are ways to condition your body and mind to react to certain stimuli in a specific way. That way, your abilities will not overwhelm you, when you find yourself in a situation of intense emotional turmoil. I can help you condition yourself, so that the next time you should feel _attracted_ to another, you will not harm him."

Ro thought about the expression on Tanib's face, just before he had kissed her that second time. She thought about Master Adriav's words and the dark side. The idea of a mental block frightened her, the implications of what her Master was proposing too big and abstract for her to completely comprehend at the moment. Her body shook even as more tears poured down her face.

"We are empaths, Ro." Master Adriav said, her voice almost kind. "Our gift is a natural extension of ourselves. Unlike most Jedi who influence thoughts, we apply our abilities instinctively. And emotions, being of a baser and simpler nature than thoughts, are often more easily controlled and manipulated as a result. But that makes it all the more a potentially dangerous weapon in the hands of a trained empath and as Jedi, we are responsible to think of the safety of others first and consider our own desires last. Only through sacrifice can we be servants to the Force."

Tanib's face was before her, his usually polite kindness washed away, replaced by an empty confusion. His beautiful grey-blue eyes dull, glazed and beneath it all, fear. Fear, as his body did things his mind did not want to. Because of her. Because of what she had done.

"I understand, Master." She whispered and wept freely.


	18. Chapter 18: 26 BBY

**The Right Stuff**

"_Does it scare you that I can/ Be something different than you? _

_Would it make you feel/ More comfortable if I wasn't? _

_Well you can't control me/ And you can't take away from me_

_Who I am." _

"_Quasimodo" by Lifehouse_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 26 BBY

Images flashed inside of his HUD: five targets and one hostage. A prerecorded voice message came through one of the comm. channels in his helmet, relaying orders.

_"Your mission: rescue the hostage, take out the hostage takers. Use of force is permissible. The hostage is to be retrieved alive. Repeat: hostage cannot be harmed." _

Following the instructions came a download of a map of the office building he was in, including the targets location. Wrench memorized the identifying markers of both hostage and enemy targets even as he made his way through the corridors, DC-15S blaster leveled in front of him. The lighting in the corridors had gone out, leaving nothing but the dull red emergency beacons - spaced at even intervals along the ceiling - to illuminate his surroundings. Not that it mattered. The Heads-up display in his training armor could compensate for the dim illumination, providing for him holographic images of the intersecting corridors at ideal lighting conditions. He could see perfectly well, even if he was unused to the muffled sound of his armored boots against the thick, grey carpet of the corridors.

Every time he came to an intersection he would crouch, wait a beat to listen, then roll across and spring back to his feet, before a potential assailant could get a lock on him. Just because the main group of assailants were all located in one area, did not mean there might not be some unpleasant surprises waiting for him on the way there. The maneuver had saved him from getting shot twice already by ambushes set up by the trainers.

Not that he would have been seriously injured had he run straight into an ambush. The droids and training sergeants were using stun rounds, just like he and the rest of the ARCs were. The point of the exercise was speed and accuracy, and while Fett believed that a little pain would make the lesson stick better, he wanted to avoid as much as possible the fatal accidents that occurred from time to time with live rounds. The stun rounds hurt enough to incapacitate and to get the message across, without inflicting permanent damage. The Kaminoans, he'd been told, approved of so frugal an approach to handling as valuable a resource as an Advanced Recon Commando.

"We're just starting and you're already falling behind, Alpha-20." The mocking voice sounding through the comm. channel belonged to Spar and Wrench grit his teeth even as he ducked to the side and beneath a shot coming at him from the right. He rolled, feeling the crackling circle of a stun round pass mere inches over him and brought the blaster into position with the roll and shot as soon as he came to a stop, prone on his stomach. Shooting up was awkward, but he'd gotten a pretty good look at the angle of the enemy shot. He fired his blaster even before his mind had time to register what he was shooting at. An attack drone fell from the air, landing with a heavy clatter on the floor.

"What was that?" Spar again.

"Just one of Fett's many surprises," Wrench said, inflecting his tone with as much nonchalance as he could manage and got back up. "And I'm not falling behind."

And he wasn't. The next junction brought him to the target door. Wrench pressed his back against the wall to the right of the door. He unclipped from his belt a flash-bang and an EMP grenade, hefting the two small devices in his gloved hand once, before slamming an armored fist into the automated lock panel. The door slid open and Wrench dived across, keeping low and fast. As anticipated, the shooting started almost as soon as the door began to open, the red bolts of plasma aimed high, either at chest or head level.

_They never think to kriffing well shoot down, _he thought and threw the flash-bang and droid popper through the door at the halfway mark. His dive across the door completed, he had just enough time to press his back against the left side of the door and turn his helmeted face away.

His HUD compensated for the intense flash of light spilling from the doorway, darkening his vision for a moment. And although the baffles had kicked in automatically, he could still hear the dismayed cries of the hostage takers and the distinctive crackling sound as the droid popper discharged its low electro magnetic pulse.

Bringing his blaster back up into the ready position, Wrench went through the door, still keeping low in anticipation of more shots. He came into what looked like an outer office, with a desk on one side and a few overstuffed chairs on the other. Two men and a woman were sprawled on the carpet, closest to the chairs. Obviously the sparse furnishings had served as their cover. The chairs were certainly wide enough for a Human to hide behind, waiting for a charge. Except, the chairs hadn't protected them from either the intense light from the flash-bang, or the mild electric shocks from the droid popper. Wrench quickly checked the three downed Humans. They were all part of the hostage team, none seriously injured. Droid poppers didn't actually have enough of a charge to injure a person seriously. But in close range, they could stun a person; at least, for a short time. Wrench shot each of the hostage takers with his blaster, ensuring they wouldn't get back up to shoot him once his back was turned. Once shot, their images flickered, then disappeared in a cloud of holographic static.

Wrench heard a sound, coming from behind the desk. He whirled, then carefully approached the desk in a half crouch. He saw a hand come over the top, holding a hand blaster. Next came the stunned face of a fourth Human: another hostage taker. Shielded by the desk, he had escaped the worst of the droid popper's effects, but had still been shaken by the flash-bang. As soon as he had a clear shot, Wrench took him out.

He made his way to the door leading to the main office, wary of a trap. _C'mon, _he thought, _don't frakking make me bomb you out of there. _As if on cue, the door slid open. Wrench stepped to the side, putting himself at an angle to the shooter, and ready to take his shot. _He_ did think to aim low.

When the door opened fully, there was no shooter waiting for him. Wrench narrowed his eyes, but made his cautious way inside, blaster still at the ready and knees lightly bent for either a quick drop or dash to the side. The last of the hostage takers was standing in the middle of the main office, a blaster held to the hostage's temple. The hostage, a woman in her late fifties, in an official looking suit, swallowed nervously.

"P-please," she stammered. "H-h-help me."

"Just drop your weapon and let us go," the hostage taker snarled, the blaster pressing into the woman's temple. "Put down the blaster, or I spatter her brains over the wall."

Wrench didn't answer; he simply pressed the trigger. The shot hit the hostage taker clean between the eyes; a lethal shot even with a stun round. The images of both hostage and hostage taker dissolved and a door at the far end of the office opened. Just as Wrench was about to step through, he heard a string of rather amusing curses over his internal comlink. Checking the progress of the other ARCs with a rapid series of blinks at his HUD, Wrench laughed. Spar had hit the hostage.

* * *

Wrench took the next stage of the exercise at a run. Now, it was all about time. He ran down the corridor until thickly carpeted durasteel suddenly became earth. Ahead of him lay the next obstacle: a wide and, most likely, very deep mud field.

Wrench saw that he had three choices to cross the mud field. Either he could jump from rock to rock, walk a plank or swing himself across via a set of swinging handlebars suspended from the ceiling by thin cables. Judging from the process Maze was making, the stones were highly unstable, tilting crazily this way and that. Fordo gave a frustrated shout as the plank broke beneath his weight and landed him into mud up to his chest. Nate and Alpha were taking the handlebars.

Wrench never hesitated. Without breaking from his run, he reached behind, unclipped the ascension cable from his belt and attached it to his blaster. Still running, he fired. The cable arched high until the grappling hook imbedded itself into one of the durasteel crossbeams, high above.

Wrench timed his jump, carefully calculating the perfect moment to kick-off, then pushed himself off of solid ground, just before his boots would have hit the mud. He swung high and wide, stretching his legs with the arc of the swing for added momentum, passing the other startled ARCs. He laughed with the exhilaration of his short flight, then landed solidly on the other side. Using the momentum of his swing, he propelled himself forwards, onto the next stage of the exercise. He also did not forget to hit the button for the ascension cable to rewind and reattached the small cylinder to his belt.

* * *

Wrench had to duck and weave almost as soon as he entered the next staging area. This landscape had been terraformed to resemble a rocky valley, ending in a cul-de-sac of sheer, jagged cliff. The 'enemy' – and Wrench counted at least twelve in his first hasty glance – had entrenched themselves slightly before and into the rock wall.

Wrench didn't stop moving forward, though he kept up a random pattern of evasions, often side-stepping a shot only by a hairsbreadth. He kept shooting while he moved, taking down two droids, before noticing more shots coming from behind him. Alpha.

The other ARC came up to his position, firing as he went. Together, they took down another four droids.

"Think you're smart, don't you?" Alpha hissed at him through the HUD's internal comm.

"I don't think, Alpha. I know." Wrench replied and kept advancing.

They were down to three droids remaining, when the rules of the game changed. As if conjured up by magic, another dozen droids appeared out of crevices in the rock wall. Their shots rang out, one impacting the hard dirt right before Wrench's left boot, spraying little shards of rock and dirt into the air. He had a moment to register that the shot had scoured a furrow into the ground, before Alpha shouted: "Live round! Take cover."

Following his own orders, Alpha dived towards cover, sheltering behind one of the boulders dotting the valley's floor. Wrench ignored him. No longer advancing, he stood his ground and shot, only occasionally ducking his head to avoid a blast or moving his feet into a new position. He took down one, then two, then three droids as live ammunition tore up the ground around him.

"What are you doing, you crazy _di'kut_?"

He ignored Alpha, barely took notice of Maze entering the field and seeking his own cover. A new droid had emerged on the rock wall. This one toted a heavy repeating blaster. Wrench took aim, had the droid in his crosshairs and pressed the trigger. Nothing. His blaster had jammed.

Wrench had one short moment in which he froze in astonishment, then the droid with the repeating blaster let loose. Dirt and chips of rock flew everywhere. Wrench threw himself to the side, taking cover behind a boulder. There was a sharp, stinging sensation as one of the blaster shots – or a bit of rock – tore through the gap in his training armor at his knee and sliced through the bodysuit beneath. He hit the ground and scrambled for better cover. Back against the rock, he extended his knee to inspect the damage. There was blood, but he didn't think one of the big veins was affected.

"What happened?" This came from Maze.

"What do you effing think happened, _mir'osik_?" He snarled back and examined his blaster. He couldn't see anything wrong with it at first glance, but he knew someone must have tampered with it.

"Kit can fail during battle. A good soldier perseveres regardless." The cool voice coming over the helmet's comlink made Wrench's head shoot up and his teeth clench. Fett; he should have known.

The repeating blaster was still chewing away the ground before them, keeping the ARCs pinned. The others were catching up now, each finding cover and doing their best to return fire.

"We need to come up with a strategy." That was Alpha again. "A planned assault, come at them from two sides."

Wrench wasn't listening. He had holstered his useless blaster and was cautiously peeking over the cover of his boulder. The trajectory of one of the enemy shots was off. Tracing it, he found the shot was not coming from the rock wall as the others were, but from the side, off to the left and further up.

Adjusting the visual settings in his HUD with a rapid blink, Wrench zoomed in on one of the observation balconies ringing the training area. There! A lone sniper was taking careful aim at the clones below.

Wrench bolted from cover, ignoring Alpha's indignant shout about breaking formation. Taking his useless blaster, he slammed its butt into the control panel set into the durasteel wall surrounding the artificial terrain. A door opened and Wrench ducked in, in time to avoid a potshot at his head from one of the practice droids. He ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, before reaching the entrance to the observation balcony. He peered through, seeing the sniper still had his back to him. It was Bric, a Siniteen bounty hunter hired by Fett. Well, this would be fun.

Wrench was careful to sneak up on the man, keeping his tread light, knowing the sounds of battle from below would act as cover. When he was just behind the bounty hunter, Wrench stopped and brought up his blaster.

"Nice day, huh?"

The Siniteen turned around, startled, and Wrench slammed his blaster into the man's face. Something broke, Bric's nose no doubt, and the bounty hunter collapsed into a boneless heap.

Wrench once more holstered his blaster, then picked up Bric's weapon. It wasn't the usual DC-15x that the clones were issued. This was a T-28 repeating sniper rifle and, hefting it in his hands, Wrench had to admit it felt good in his grip. Taking up Bric's former position at the railing, he looked out through the scope over the battlefield. The others had made some headway, though the repeating blaster was still making advancement difficult. The droids were dug in good and Wrench could see some of his fellow ARCs bleeding like him.

He didn't think much about what he was doing. Aiming the rifle, his first shot hit the repeating blaster's powerpack slot. The blaster whined like a wounded animal and sparks began to shoot from the impact site. His next shot took out the droid doing the shooting. Satisfied, he slung the rifle over his back and ran along the observation balcony as fast as his injured knee could take him. Following the elevated path would take him directly to the last stage of the exercise, without having to scale that rock partition. If the others couldn't take out the rest of the droids, then that was just too karking bad. He had a training exercise to finish and he'd just found himself a shortcut.

* * *

Wrench pressed the data crystal into its receptacle on the console and crowed in delight when the screen light up a bright green. He'd done it and in record time. He pulled off his helmet, breathing heavily, but grinning in triumph, high on victory and adrenaline. He was the first to complete the training exercise and he'd done it with a perfect score.

Behind him, he heard the heavy thud of more boots and he watched as Alpha, always ahead of the pack, skidded to a stop in front of another console and inserted his own data crystal. Alpha threw him a disgruntled look from behind the wide faceplate of his helmet, even as the others caught up and deposited their crystals along the bank of data consoles lined against the wall.

Fett appeared in a doorway, once everyone had completed the exercise and gathered in a small group in the middle of the room. Wrench, standing slightly apart from the others, watched Fett warily. Their relationship had only deteriorated further in the intervening years and it paid to have a close eye on the old man. He struck fast and he always struck in unexpected ways.

Fett was followed by Bric; his nose splinted and the olive skin around his eyes discolored to a greenish-purple. Wrench couldn't help but grin at the sight.

Fett confronted the group, arms akimbo, his helmet clipped to his belt. "You call yourselves ARCs? That was pathetic. A mynock would have done a better job." He swept the panting, sweating crowd of clones with his dark eyes, before settling his gaze on Wrench.

Wrench lifted his chin defiantly. He had done well. More than well in fact and they both knew it. _C'mon you old _chakaar_, _he thought furiously. _Just say it. You have to. Just say…_

"Alpha-20, you're being assigned extra punishment duty, starting at 1930 hours."

Wrench's smile slipped from his face. He opened his mouth once, twice, before anger overtook incredulity.

"Sir, may I ask why, sir?" The words felt rotten in his mouth, but he managed to push them out.

"For wasting time, Alpha-20. You could have finished two minutes and thirteen seconds before your time. Instead, you dallied while taking out an unnecessary target. Your mission objective was to bring back the data crystal, not save the others _shebs_." Fett advanced on him until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "The mission comes first, Alpha-20. Always."

Wrench swallowed an angry outburst, but his fists clenched tightly enough to draw blood even through the glove. He wanted to strike, but Fett was in the advantage; he had Bric and the other ARCs as backup. _Why couldn't you just say it? Why couldn't you, just once, admit I did a good job? _Through clenched teeth, he managed to hiss out the expected response.

"Sir, yes, sir."

Fett dismissed them after further criticizing their performance. Wrench practically stewed in his anger, but kept his mouth shut. He had remembered Fett's warning about needing to pick his fights and though he hated the man, he knew good advice even when it was delivered to him at blaster point. He would work through whatever punishment detail Fett assigned him. Then he would take apart his blaster and find out just how Fett had sabotaged the weapon and make sure it never happened again. Fett might be able to catch him by surprise, but he would not be able to surprise him twice in the same way. And he made sure to root out and crush whatever small part of him had still been hoping for the other man's approval. From now on, he would succeed for his own satisfaction. Everything else be damned to all nine Corellian hells and back.

* * *

**Translation: **_di'kut _= idiot, _mir'osik = _dung for brains, _chakaar = _thief, petty criminal, scumbag, _shebs _= backside, rear


	19. Chapter 19: 25 BBY

**So Grows the Man**

"_And I want a moment to be real/ Want to touch things I don't feel_

_Wanna hold on and feel I belong._

_And how can the world want me to change_

_They're the ones that stay the same_

_They don't know me/ 'Cause I'm not here."_

"_I'm Still Here" by John Rzeznik_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 25 BBY

When Wrench reentered the pristine white world that was Tipoca City, he had to stop and blink a few times for his eyes to readjust to the disturbingly bright lights. He had spent the past four hours in grueling exercise under the watchful eye of Walon Vau and his strill, Lord Mirdalan. Another rousing punishment detail courtesy of Fett, incurred after Wrench had sabotaged Tipoca's central chrono software. For a city as reliant on technology and automated systems as Tipoca, accurate time was everything. The chrono software told other systems when to initiate automatic upgrades, scan the pyrowalls protecting Kamino's sensitive data, or share data. It was the center of controlling some of the most complex systems down to the most simple, like the lighting controls or deployment of servo-droids. Basically, Wrench had effectively thrown Tipoca into utter chaos for a good eleven hours simply by screwing around with a few clocks. And it had been fun.

It would take the Kaminoans weeks, if not months, to retrieve data that had been lost due to the systems failing to perform an automated backup. Similarly, masses of streamed data had been corrupted during erratic power surges and blackouts. While the fun had lasted, every clone in Tipoca had been confined to the barracks, with nothing to occupy them. Their first idle day since they had been decanted. The fact that Fett had fingered Wrench as the culprit on no more than a gut feeling, added to Wrench's pleasure about the successful sabotage. He was getting good at this. Really good, if not even Fett could find proper evidence of his involvement.

A shiver ran through his body and dispelled the pleasant memory. He was drenched from the constant rain that made up Kamino's weather. And being dressed in nothing but your underwear did not help the matter. His toes and fingers were numb. Rubbing his arms for a brief moment, he quickly stepped out of the small puddle forming around his bare feet and made his way back to the barracks. He fought the urge to tuck his hands beneath his armpits to warm his fingers. He did not want Fett seeing him shivering and weak from the cold, the wind, the rain and Vau's creative take on 'exercise'.

Getting to the barracks without meeting too many people – clone, Kaminoan or training sergeant – he was struck by their emptiness. Where was everyone? He scanned the rows of sleeping bunkers, but the indicator lights were all green. So, no one sleeping yet. With another shiver from cold, he put the absence of the other ARCs from his mind and hurried over to his locker, bare feet slapping against the cold durasteel ground. Punching in his authorization code, Wrench quickly gathered the small pouch containing his hygienic kit, a towel and his fatigues, then made his way to the barrack's refresher. Halfway there, the 'fresher doors suddenly opened and the rest of the ARCs piled out, laughing and talking among themselves. Well, one mystery solved.

Seeing him, some of the ARCs stared while others quickly looked away or pretended not to see him. Wrench didn't care; all he wanted right now was a hot shower and some hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Close to the 'fresher's entrance, he came face-to-face with Alpha, Nate and Fordo. Fett's little golden boys. A few others, Maze, Spar and Sull among them, accompanied the three. Not exactly the elite of the Alpha-series, but close enough to be tolerated by the three who did hold that august title. Alpha, dressed in his bodysuit, crossed his arms over his chest, a wide, mocking smile on his face.

"Well, well. Look what the aiwha dragged in." He carefully looked Wrench up and down, taking in the mottled, bruised state of his skin, the rainwater dripping from his scalp and his general state of undress. "Back from another extra set of punishment rounds, I see. So happy you could rejoin us." There was no missing the sarcastic tone of the words. Not that Wrench was surprised by this general lack of brotherly affection. To put it simply, he and Alpha did not get along.

"As eager as I am to participate in this stunning display of conversational wit, I have better things to do," Wrench drawled back. "Like self-amputation." He made to move passed the other clone, but Fordo stretched out an arm to stop him. Wrench whirled on the ARC, ready for a fight. He was tired, cold and aching and not in the mood for exchanging more verbal blows. Physical blows, at least, had the satisfaction of ending an argument right then and there.

"You'll need this," Fordo said, and handed him a small packet. Wrench took it, turning it over in his hand, before looking back at Fordo.

"Is it going to explode?" He asked, only half joking.

There was an exacerbated snort from Sull. "It's your new shaving kit, you _di'kut_."

_Shaving? _One hand came up to touch the skin around his mouth and chin. There was the distinctive rasp of hairs, whiskers being the term, if he remembered correctly. Though technically only seven, all of the clones were already racing through the developmental stage one of their instructors had termed 'puberty'. The sudden growth of extra facial hair had been a part of that. Looking at the others, he noticed for the first time that the bottom half of their faces was free of excess hair, the skin smooth and a little more pink than usual.

Maze spoke up next. "Fett was showing us how this afternoon, while you were…" he trailed off, not sure how to classify exactly what Wrench had been doing. None of the others had been told why he was being punished. The Kaminoans didn't want to admit that a mere clone had breached some of their highest security codes and Fett hadn't actually uncovered any evidence implicating Wrench in the affair. Besides, Wrench receiving extra punishment was such a routine occurrence by now that the others no longer bothered to ask what, if anything, he had done to deserve it.

"While I was doing calisthenics with Vau." Wrench finished for Maze, hefting the shaving kit in his hand. It didn't feel too heavy and would easily fit into the pouch along with his other hygienic gear.

Alpha clapped him on the shoulder, the blow producing a wet, fleshy smacking sound. It hurt, but Wrench kept his face still. "Good luck with that," he said, casting an amused eye at the shaving kit, then sauntered off back to his bunker.

"Maybe we should..." Colt began, but someone jabbed an elbow into his side and the ARC trailed off. The others began to move past Wrench, following Alpha back to the sleeping bunkers and leaving him standing in front of the 'freshers. Maze and Colt gave him what could have been sympathetic glances, but no one said anything else.

* * *

"Kriffing _shabla osik_." The Mando'a expletives, along with a few choice others in varying languages, slipped from Wrench's tongue before he could stop them. He threw the razor into the sink with a frustrated cry and regarded his face in the mirror mounted above. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he grimaced as he saw the thin line of blood snake its way down his throat from his chin.

Figuring out how to shave his face was proving harder than he had initially anticipated and he didn't understand why. He was an expert with a knife, could throw one even over a long distance with high accuracy, yet his face was becoming a study in shallow cuts from three short blades mounted in a plastic frame.

He turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on the cut. He watched as the bloody water ran back into the sink, past the razor still lying there. His throat tightened, his eyes began to burn and with horror he realized he was about to cry.

"Don't be so frakking stupid," he muttered to himself. "That's just what he wants." To control the impulse, he bit into his hand, using the pain as a distraction until the tightness in his throat and the burning in his eyes had passed. Crying didn't get you anywhere. Crying never helped. He knew that perfectly well. After all, he'd wasted enough tears in his earlier years.

Letting his hand drop, he inspected the indentations of his teeth in the flesh, before looking back into the mirror. Carefully, he examined his face once more. Shaving along his cheeks had actually been pretty easy. He had sharp cheekbones, but the contours were relatively even and flat and Wrench knew exactly how much pressure needed to be applied to a blade in order to break the skin beneath. His first real trouble had come when he had tried shaving along the right side of his mouth, where his distinctive scar stretched from his mouth's corner up to the cheek itself. The scar had healed rather well, but the skin there remained slightly paler and raised from the rest. That's where he had cut himself the first time. The next difficult areas had been his chin and the space between his nose and upper lip. There were more thin cuts there now, as well.

Wrench's tongue darted out, catching a few droplets of blood trailing down his lips. The coppery tang was mixed with the artificial and chemical taste of the shaving cream. He grimaced at the taste, then let the expression deepen at the sight of his face in the mirror. None of the others had looked like they had gone three rounds with a drunken barber droid. This shaving business was obviously harder than he had first thought. Maybe he should ask one of them for help. Maze might do it or Spar. Spar would probably be his best bet. Alpha-02 appeared to become less and less enchanted with the clones lifestyle the more they learned about their future roles in the Republic. Maze was a straight shooter, but Spar seemed to grow more open to breaking the rules every now and then. _Such as helping Fett's whipping boy to keep from lobbing off his nose, _he thought grimly. Or Colt. Colt was always going on about the principles of_ Vode An _and he'd seemed willing before...

In a sudden burst of anger he snarled and pushed himself away from the sink. No! No, no and no again. He would not ask for help. Never! He was an ARC, a one-man army, and he did not need help in completing a task. Not even from a fellow ARC. Besides, none of them had offered their help before and he would not go asking for it now. It would just be too humiliating.

He grabbed his towel from one of the benches lining the 'fresher and vigorously scrubbed his face free of the excess shaving cream. The motion reopened those shallow cuts that had already begun to clot, but he didn't care. Blood he knew how to deal with.

Throwing the towel over his shoulder, Wrench returned to the sink and picked up the small razor again. He looked at it carefully, then examined his face for what stubble his first clumsy attempts had missed. There were still some hairs on his chin and he had yet to shave the area beneath, where his neck began.

He carefully applied a small amount of the shaving cream to the area, ignoring the brief flair of pain as the chemicals in the cream interacted with his open cuts. Taking a deep breath, he carefully applied the razor to his chin, drawing it down in carefully, stuttering movements; stopping occasionally to readjust the pressure he was applying as the contours of his face changed. He worked carefully and meticulously, taking his time and stopping every now and then to rest his arms, trembling from their previous abuse with Vau.

He was even more careful when he started shaving along his throat, tilting his head to create as smooth and flat a surface as he could to draw the razor over. Bleeding out because he had cut through his jugular would simply be too ignominious a death.

When he was done, he washed his face in cold water and carefully examined his work. He had added no new cuts to his face. He grinned in triumph and meticulously repacked his hygienic pouch, adding the shaving kit to its contents. Perhaps patience did pay off, from time to time; like waiting for the perfect shot in sniper training.

Surprisingly, he felt older now, not physically but in a more insubstantial way. For the first time in his life he had accomplished a task without anyone, trainer or flash training, to previously show him how to do it. He had learned something on his own. He rubbed a palm over one side of his face, felt the smooth skin there and knew that what he felt were the beginnings of manhood. And he had found his way there all by himself.

That made him proud and he ruthlessly suppressed that small voice that told him he also felt lonely. Let the others follow Fett's lead like blind nuna. He would find his own way; he'd just proven that he could.


	20. Chapter 20: 25 BBY

**What is Right and What is Proper**

"_I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly_

_I'll do what I can 'til I touch the sky_

_And I'll make a wish_

_Take a chance_

_Make a change_

_And breakaway." _

"_Breakaway" by Kelly Clarkson_

* * *

Spira, Ataria city, 25 BBY

Ro burst out of the office of Ataria's chief of police, letting the antique, decorative wooden door slam shut behind her. Moments later, she heard the sound of sensible boots on the polished marble floor behind her.

"Ro." There was a world of warning in that tone and Ro stopped, fists clenched at her side. The other occupants of the station's reception area stared at her and Master Adriav, as the older woman came to stand behind Ro.

The Zeltron put a firm hand on Ro's shoulder and turned the smaller girl around. "Such behavior is unbecoming in a Jedi, Ro." Her voice was firm, cool and for an irrational moment Ro had the urge to slap that coolness out of her.

Sensing the sudden increase in her Padawan's hostility, Master Adriav narrowed her eyes, then steered Ro into a far corner, away from the secretaries and lingering police officers that made up most of Ataria's security force.

"Beware your feelings, Ro." Master Adriav warned her. "Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to the dark side. You must purge yourself of this anger and regain your equilibrium."

"My equilibrium?" Ro hissed back. "Didn't you just hear what that tub of guts said? Six months in jail and a fine, that's all that monster is going to get for raping six women. I should be angry. You should be angry. The whole Republic should be angry."

"Chief Armio is acting according to the laws of this planet and its government."

"And the depth of a rapist's pocketbook."

"Ro."

"It's true. We both know it. Those women knew it even before they came to us for help. No wonder they never bothered coming to the police." She raised her voice to be clearly understood by the crowd desperately trying to eavesdrop. "This is isn't a police station; it's a Neimoidian credit exchange."

"Ro." And this time, Ro was gratified to see her Master's aloof mask crack. _'Bout time she gets fed up about something around here, _she thought. Master Adriav closed her eyes for a brief moment, collecting herself, before once more coolly regarding her Padawan. "Perhaps," she said in a carefully controlled tone of voice. "You should take a walk and clear your head."

Ro didn't wait for further instructions. She left the police station, bursting out into the bright sunshine of Spira. The only gratifying thing about her exit was that some members of the police force actually did turn their heads away in shame when she passed them.

* * *

"'The dark side, Ro. It's the path to the dark side. Beware the dark side.' She sounds like a broken holorecording. Doesn't she know any other tunes?"

Ro was muttering to herself, busily walking up and down the same stretch of beach. The place was deserted, mostly due to her scaring off what few guests had lingered for the evening. Having an angry and outraged empath in the vicinity was not conducive to relaxation and enjoyment.

"And we can't have that, now can we? Oh, no. After all, what's the point of a luxury resort, when no one is luxuriating? Gotta keep the guests happy and the money flowing." She stopped at that and kicked angrily at one of the decorative benches placed at strategic intervals along the beach. "No matter what the cost."

Ro stopped her pacing and pressed her hands against her temples, feeling a low pounding starting up. The first warning signs emitted by the mind block to let her know she was getting dangerously close to losing control over her feelings. Eyes closed tightly shut, she began to breathe evenly, slowing her heart rate until the headache eased. Crisis averted. For now. Though it had been almost a year since Tanaab, Ro was still struggling to adjust to the mind block that was supposed to help her keep control over her emotions.

Opening her eyes again, Ro ignored the desire to burst into tears and instead took a moment to take in her surroundings for the first time. This particular beach was one of many to be found on Ataria and the rest of Spira. The whole planet was made up of island chains, each sporting wonderful beaches and a sea perfect for water sports. It was no wonder the Tourist Guild had turned the planet into a luxury resort. The surroundings were beautiful; the temperatures mild all year round and there were no dangerous animals to inhibit the pleasure of the tourists. _But it's all rotten inside and no one sees it. No one wants to see it._ The thought irked her, but she kept from pacing. Instead, she looked out over the wide expanse of ocean, its brilliant blue-green water lapping in gentle waves towards the shore.

The Tourist Guild had recently logged a request with the Order to send a Jedi to Spira to act as a neutral third party in a dispute between the Guild and the local workers union. There had been a string of demonstrations organized by the union and the Guild, fearful of upsetting the guests, had turned to the Order for a swift, and discreet, intervention.

When Ro and Master Adriav had arrived on Spira, the two Jedi had expected no more than a dispute about wages, or working conditions. But the real cause for the union's uprising had proven much more serious. In the past month, six women, all employees of the resort on Ataria island, had been assaulted and raped. And the Guild had done nothing. Nothing, that is, except trying to cover it up. The Guild's main concern had been the possible drop in tourism if the story ever got out. The victims had received nothing except a relocation to a more remote part of the island, where they were sequestered away from the tourists and forbidden to speak to anyone about what had happened under the threat of losing their employment.

"It's not wonder then that no one wanted to talk to us." She told the empty air. "We were there on behalf of the Guild, practically helping them cover for that monster." She flung her arms around her skinny body, shivering with a chill that had nothing to do with the planet's climate.

Ro was not a naïve girl. She knew the galaxy she lived in; knew that more often then not, justice was what the upper echelons made it to be. If you had enough credits, there was little you couldn't do. _Including buy your way out of what should have been life in prison. _The thought was bitter and it made her mouth twist with distaste. But she had always thought, that at least the Jedi...

"And what does the Order do about it?" she asked herself and the ocean. "Nothing," she answered and turned her face away from the lovely scenery. "Nothing," she repeated, "but live with it. We solve other people's disputes, but we don't solve what the disputes were about. We work within the system, protect the system, but we don't change the system, because," and here, her voice took on a annoyed edge even as she perfectly mimicked her Master's smoky voice, "'It is a Jedi's duty to serve the Republic, not to make its policy.' Well who is the Republic?" And she threw her hands up in exasperation, beginning to pace once more along the beach.

"This," and she kicked at the sand before her, "can't be the Republic. Not all of it. The Jedi can't just protect some stupid laws without question; particularly the bad ones. If we are peacekeepers, then shouldn't we eliminate what disturbs the peace? If we are protectors, then shouldn't we be protecting the people, even from the Republic? I mean, seriously," she tugged at her braid in agitation of where her one-sided debate was leading her. "What's more important, protecting the Republic or protecting its people?"

She halted her pacing once more, coming to another abrupt halt. She stared along the beach, taking in its emptiness. She thought about those women, Twi'leks, Humans, and one Devaronian. When asked about what had happened to them, Ro had nearly been overwhelmed by the women's feelings of _pain, bewilderment, fear _and, _shame. _This last emotion in particular had driven Ro to tears. To think that they should be feeling ashamed, when they were so clearly the victims. But after seeing the treatment they received at the hands of the Guild and the local law enforcers, Ro realized she shouldn't have been surprised. From the moment they had sought help, these women had been treated either with scorn or with more abuse. She had even overheard one officer muttering something about having asked for it, even as the Twi'lek she and Master Adriav had been interviewing burst into tears.

_No one asks for __**this.**_ She thought bitterly. _No one asks to be treated like a second rate citizen. No one asks to be mocked or ignored when something awful happens to them. _And Master Adriav? She had merely continued the interview, ignoring the officer's mutterings. She hadn't even offered the woman any serious comfort, even though Ro knew her Master must have felt the same things she had.

"But doing that would have meant becoming emotionally involved. And Jedi don't do that. Jedi must detach themselves from emotions in order to serve the will of the Force and the needs of the Republic. Because emotions can lead to the dark side."

Spinning around in a sudden flash of passionate fury, Ro kicked at the bench next to her. "There is no emotion, there is peace." She hissed and kicked the bench again, the headache induced by the mind block starting up again. "There is no passion, there is serenity." The bench gave way under the force of her frustrations and toppled backwards unto the sandy beach.

"I always had a few problems with that doctrine myself." Ro turned so sharply at the sound of a new voice, that her long braid swung around to slap her face. Pushing it aside impatiently, she gazed at the older Human male standing before her.

"Master Altis," she said and blushed; embarrassed to have been caught indulging in such a childish tempter tantrum.

Master Djinn Altis, leader of the Altisian Jedi, raised one hand and smiled kindly at her. "No need to apologize, Padawan. I am quite familiar with the more, ehm, impassioned responses the Jedi Code can inspire."

Ro shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Master Altis had come to Spira as a favor for an old friend from the workers union. Whereas the Guild had wanted the Order to make their problem quietly disappear, the workers union had asked Altis to actively investigate the rapes and to catch the perpetrator, since their government seemed unwilling and uninterested to do so. It had been Master Altis who had made her own Master aware of the real situation on Ataria and who had encouraged her and Ro to help him catch the man preying on women. And while Ro had found the unorthodox Jedi Master both kind and engaging, she wasn't sure how he would react to her momentary lapse into anger.

"How did you find me?" she asked, then winced at how accusatory the question had come out.

"I was actually taking a stroll, when I came upon a variable trail of bad feelings. I figured I should find the person exuding this much misery and see if I couldn't help." He peered at her very carefully, taking in her flushed face and red-rimmed eyes. "Can I help you, Padawan Arhen?"

Ro bit her lip, then glanced back out over the wide expanse of ocean. "I don't know." She told him honestly. "I don't know what kind of help I need. I just…" she trailed off and felt tears sting her eyes. "I don't know."

Master Altis came towards her and put a consolidating arm around her shoulders. "There, there, my dear. No need for tears now." He gave her a gentle squeeze and maneuvered her back to the bench she had vented her feelings on. "Why don't you help an old man set this bench to rights and then you and I can have a bit of a talk. I have found that most problems can be solved just by talking to a stranger."

Ro looked up at him, at his kind face and his concerned eyes. Yes, she would talk to Master Altis and try to explain to him her conflicting feelings about the Order and the Republic, the galaxy at large and her role within it. And then, she just might have a talk with Master Adriav.

* * *

"I see that walk did you some good, Ro. I can sense how much calmer you have become."

Ro looked up from where her folded hands rested on the polished surface of the table and watched as her Master entered their temporary quarters. The Guild had housed them in the luxury suite of one of their many hotels on the island and for a moment, Ro couldn't help but think that the lavish decorations of the suite suited her Master far more than the austere room she kept at the Temple.

"Yes, Master. Walking did help and I was wondering if we could talk." It wasn't a question and Master Adriav cocked her head to the side, regarding Ro curiously. Ro felt her Master reaching out through the Force, trying to decipher more clearly the emotional state of her Padawan. Ro let her, allowing the older woman to feel her calm resolution. She had made a decision and having made it, she found she felt better than she had in quite some time.

Apparently satisfied with what she found, Master Adriav nodded her head in assent. "Of course, Ro" she said and took the chair opposite her student.

"During my…walk," she began, choosing to stay with the neutral label, "I encountered Master Altis." She saw Mater Adriav stiffen slightly, felt a shiver of _apprehension _make its way through the Force. The Altisian Jedi had disconcerted the Zeltron from the very beginning. Ro kept going, ignoring her Master's reaction to the mention of the other Jedi's name. "We talked," she explained. "We talked a lot. About the Order and the Code, about the Republic and a Jedi's role in the Republic."

"Did you now?" Master Adriav murmured quietly, and brushed an errand strand of blue hair from her lovely face. "And what conclusion did you reach at the end of this…_talk_?"

Ro looked her Master square in the eye, determination filling her to the core. "That my place is not with the Order."

Master Adriav gave a sharp little gasp and she sat more upright in her chair, her posture going rigid. "Ro," she said, her voice tense. "That is absolute nonsense. You are a Jedi and a Jedi's place is with the Order."

"Not for all Jedi." Ro countered. "Master Altis and his followers are Jedi and most of them have never even seen the inside of the Temple. They still do a Jedi's work," she continued, ignoring the disbelieving mien on her Master's face. "They still serve the Republic, they still help people, they just do it differently and I," she swallowed. "I want that too. I want to help people, I always have. But if there is one thing I've learned on this mission, it's that I can't do it in the way the Order wants. I have to find my own way to help and I think I can do that with Master Altis."

Master Adriav suddenly leaned towards her, grasping Ro's fingers with her own delicate pink ones. "Think about this Ro." She implored the younger girl. "Once you walk this path, there is no going back. You might not be strong in the Force, but you can still be a Jedi with the Order. You told me yourself that you've wanted that ever since you were small. It's your dream. Don't give up on that just because of one difficult mission."

But it wasn't just 'one difficult mission'.

Ro looked into her Master's sincere amber eyes and felt a stab of pain. Yes, it had been her dream for as long as she could remember to walk the halls of the Temple tall and proud, a Knight of the Order. It had been her Master's dream too and was the reason why she had sacrificed so much of herself. The Zeltron were a people full of passions and pleasure seeking impulses. Not at all conducive to the ways of the Jedi, which was why there were so very few Zeltron Jedi. Which was why her Master had suppressed and cut away many of her natural leanings, molding herself into the perfect picture of a Jedi Knight so as to remain within the Order and to pass her trials. And she was a good Jedi. But Sarika Adriav was also a woman who would get a wistfully sad expression on her face when she heard the sounds of a celebration; a woman who would begin to smile and flirt only to force herself stop, subsumed with feelings of guilt and failure.

_And I can't do that, _Ro thought. _I can't live that kind of a half-life for the sake of the Code, nor give away so much of myself. I already lost so much after Tanaab. _But thoughts of Tanaab were still too painful, the effects of the mind block still too recent. Ro pushed the memories away, focusing on the here and now. She returned her Master's gentle pressure on her fingers. "Dreams change," she told the Zeltron and smiled. "And I think this is right for me. And I think you know that, too."

Master Adriav didn't answer her, but the quick flicker of her eyes told Ro all she needed to know. Their relationship had never truly recovered after Tanaab.

"I wanted to ask if you would let me go and," she hesitated. "And to give me your blessing."

There was a long pause, in which the silence of the room stretched between them. Then, slowly, her Master nodded.

"Yes, Ro. I'll release you from my apprenticeship. And may the Force be with you on your new path."


	21. Chapter 21: 25 BBY

**Interlude**

"_But there's a danger in loving somebody too much, _

_And it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust._

_There's a reason why people don't stay where they are. _

_Baby, sometimes, love just ain't enough." _

"_Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough" by Patti Smith_

* * *

Coruscant, Jedi Temple, 25 BBY

Garett climbed the steps of the Temple, feeling utterly exhausted and drained. The mission to Corellia had been…. complicated, and he desperately wished to get back to his quarters, climb into bed and not come out for the rest of the day.

Entering the Temple, he scanned the entrance hall and felt his spirits sink even further. There was no Ro waiting for him, eagerly bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, smiling in joy at seeing him. She must be out on a mission with her own Master. It was too bad, because right now, he could truly use her comfort and support.

_Strong fingers combed through his short, pale blond hair. Lips carefully brushed the shell of his ear, while beckoning him with words of temptation, promises of the future. _

_"Stay." _

A shiver ran down his spine at the memory and one hand came up to cover his face, hiding his grimace from any Jedi who might come wandering into the entrance hall at that moment. When he had regained some measure of outward composure at least, Garett let his hand drop back to his side, half-expecting Ro to have suddenly materialized before him in those brief seconds.

Thanks to their special bond, Ro always knew when he was upset or hurting, just like he was often keenly aware of her emotional state. And though her natural state was that of a bubbly and enthusiastically happy person, Ro's empathic abilities also allowed her to know when sympathy, rather than mirth was needed. She always knew just what to say or do to make him feel better, whether he needed reassurance or just a sympathetic ear. And right now, he truly needed both and maybe even a shoulder to cry on.

He rubbed at his face, banishing that last impulse and, hefting the duffle containing the few things he had needed for Corellia, he made his way back to his quarters. Maybe, once she was back, he and Ro could go to the Room of a Thousand Fountains and he could tell her exactly what had happened to him on Corellia and she could tell him that he had made the right choice. He really needed to hear that right now.

When he saw the distinctive form of Ro's Master, Knight Sarika Adriav, standing before his door, obviously waiting for him, he stopped dead in his tracks in surprise. If her Master was here, then Ro had to be in the Temple as well. But if that were the case, then she would have been waiting for him in the entrance hall, like she always did, to greet him after a mission. Knight Adriav turned at the sound of his footsteps, her lovely face cast in a serious mien, her amber eyes solemn.

There was a sudden, leaden feeling in his stomach. Had something happened to Ro? No, surely if his little sister had come to grief, he would have felt it. He always knew when Ro was in trouble, or hurt, or simply upset. _Always. _

Realizing he'd been staring at the Knight, Garett gave the Zeltron a quick, though rather abrupt, bow. "My apologies Knight Adriav, were you," he hesitated over the words. "Waiting to see me?" For the life of him he couldn't image what Ro's Master wanted to talk to him about. Maybe Ro really was in trouble. _Or caused some kind of trouble, _he thought warily. He didn't want to deal with this right now. He felt a small stab of irritation. Why did the older Jedi always come to him, when Ro was acting up or out of line? Wasn't it their job to handle an errant Padawan? And weren't they constantly lecturing both siblings that they were spending too much time with each other? So why did they always have to involve him in Ro's antics?

"Padawan Arhen," and the Jedi Knight inclined her head respectfully towards him. "I was indeed waiting for you. I have a message for you from your sister." If the Zeltron had felt his sudden aggravation, she gave no sign of it.

"From Ro?" He asked, now seriously puzzled. "Why can't she give it to me herself? Isn't she here with you?" Certainly Ro wouldn't be alone in the field. She was far too young for a solo mission.

"Ro," Adriav said and Garett detected a certain tenseness in the otherwise elegant voice. "Is no longer my apprentice, nor is she a member of the Order."

Garett's mind reeled at her words. "No longer…I don't…you kicked her out?" He finally asked. It was the only conceivable scenario he could come up with.

Adriav's lips momentarily tightened into a thin, disapproving line, before she answered in a rather clipped tone of voice. "No, I did not, as you inferred, kicked her out. She left of her own freewill to pursue another path." She looked at him sternly, then relented the slightest bit. "She wanted to explain to you in person, but Master Altis was in rather a hurry to leave Spira, so she asked me to deliver to you this." She held out her hand and revealed a holorecorder, its metallic surface gleaming against her pink skin.

Garett had to swallow a sudden lump rising in his throat. "I don't understand." _Any of this, _he added silently.

"You will," Adriav told him.

Numbly he took the holorecorder from her hand.

* * *

In the privacy of his room, Garett watched as an image of his sister, no larger than a hand span, emerged from the holorecorder. Ro, he thought, looked slightly different then the last time he had seen her. Her mass of pale blond hair was no longer confined to its braid, though Garett thought he saw the slim outlines of a Padawan braid hidden in between the long strands. She also looked…taller.

Ever since Tanaab, Garett had noticed a new nervousness within his sister. She was constantly hunching her shoulders as if in protection of some imagined blow and she would cast furtive glances over her shoulders, as if hunted by something or someone. He had never been able to get her to tell him what exactly had happened on Tanaab, nor where she and her Master had disappeared to for a whole month after that. But there was no doubt that something had left its mark on his sister. And after Corellia, Garett thought he might have a better incline as to what it was that had hurt and haunted his sister so deeply.

_Another reason why I wish she was here, _he thought wistfully. _We could figure these feelings out together. Make both of us feel better. _

Except, it seemed that Ro was already feeling better. Looking at her holograph now, Garett thought that at least some of that burden must have been lifted, because now Ro's shoulders were straight and the smile she wore was more reminiscent of her happier nature than he had seen in quite some time. And he was glad to see it, but a secret part of him was also jealous. Jealous that his sister was no longer feeling the pain that was now so badly rattling his emotional equilibrium. And jealous that she had apparently found some kind of peace without his help; without coming to her big brother to make it all better.

"Hi Garett," she greeted him, from a space and time leagues away from here. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you face-to-face. I wanted to, but then Master Altis got this call from one of his students – I think her name was Callista something – and he had to rush off and he said there was no way to tell where he would be next, so finding him would be difficult and," she stopped and took a breath. "Sorry. Rambling, I know." Her holographic image grinned at him and, despite his confusion and gloom, he found himself grinning back. Ro happy, even through a holo, was a near irresistible force.

"The long and short of it, I guess, is that I've decided to leave the Order and follow Master Altis," she continued, her voice taking on a more thoughtful tone now. "I talked about it with Master Adriav and, well…" She looked down at her boots, then back up at him. "This is for the best Garett. I don't think I ever would have made it far in the Order and Master Altis - he's different. He can teach me how to be a Jedi my own way, and I need that." She paused again and gave him a rueful smile. "I'm not sure how much we'll see each other in the future, but I want you to know Garett, that I love you. You're the best big brother a girl could ask for and no matter what, that'll never change. Take care of yourself, 'kay?" Then her smile turned more mischievous. "And I already know that the Force is with you."

The holo flickered out and Garett was left staring at the empty space where, moments ago, he had looked at the image of his little sister.

_She's gone. _The thought made him feel numb inside. _I can't believe she'd just leave. _Then, a more resentful voice in his mind added, _I can't believe she'd just leave __**me. **_

He swallowed hard and looked away from the holorecorder and out across the Coruscant cityscape. He knew that wasn't fair, nor worthy of a Jedi. Ro hadn't left _him_**_;_ **she'd simply followed whatever path the Force had guided her onto. If Ro was happier with Master Altis, and judging from how she'd looked in the recording she was, then he should be happy for her.

He stood up and walked towards the single window set into his room, hands gripping the windowsill until his knuckles turned white and tried to imagine what his life would be like now, without Ro as a constant presence. There would be no more enthusiastic greetings on his return home, no more late night talks or private sparring sessions. He would no longer listen to his sister sing, or watch her trying to teach herself the use of various musical instruments, or be subjugated to a demonstration of some new dance. He would no longer guide her through lightsaber forms that caused her difficulties or get to see that look of admiration and wonder in her eyes when he demonstrated his own skills to her.

Feeling lonely and miserable, Garett closed his eyes, steadied his breathing and fell into the gentle flow of the Force. To him, it was a world of darkness, gentle and soft as velvet, illuminated with the silver ghost outlines that was the essence of other sentients. He floated between those lights for a brief moment, trying to steady himself, before reaching inside of his own consciousness and finding the Force-bond that linked him to his sister. To his mind's eye, that bond was like a sturdy rope, now stretched to the thinness of a single thread by distance, but as durable as ever. With invisible fingers, her gently plucked at the thread, watching as it began to vibrate from the contact, sending silver ripples down its length and into the Force. He waited.

And then a wave of answering ripples came back to him, making the thread hum like the strings of a guitar. When the ripples reached him, they painted the impression of a small, round face in his mind; a silvery echo of bright eyes and laughter. And the ripples brought words as well. Not words in the conventional way. Ro's limited Force-abilities had never allowed them to actually communicate in an advanced form of telepathy, but emotions and ideas came through clearly and he always knew what his sister meant by them.

_"I love you," _the words hummed through the Force, through their bond and momentarily soothed the ache in him._ "I'm always here. You are always here. We are not alone." _

Then the ripples ended and his sister's presence was gone, lost once more in the vast expanse of the galaxy and the titanic ocean of the Force. Garett opened his teal eyes and stared blankly out of his window, trying to hold on to that momentary feeling of solace.

He should be happy for her and in truth, he was. Ro was growing up and finding her own way through life and she had looked so relieved in her holo, so much more like herself. He certainly wanted her to be happy. But looking out over the towering, busy cityscape that was Coruscant, a small part of him couldn't help but feel abandoned as well.


	22. Chapter 22: 24 BBY

**Author's Note: **Because I want to be fair, a bit of a warning: things are going to get a teeny little bit naughty at the end. Nothing explicit, but one way or the other, that ARC is getting some.

* * *

**Pleasure By Any Other Name**

"_I'm at war with the world 'cause I _

_Ain't never gonna sell my soul_

_I've already made up my mind_

_No matter what, I can't be bought or sold." _

"_Awake and Alive" by Skillet_

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 24 BBY

He hadn't visited the lower levels of Tipoca in a while; not since his last excursion with Asher in fact, but today he needed to get away. Not from Fett this time, but from his own brothers. Wrench just couldn't stand it anymore: the sneers, the looks, the whispers of 'deficient' and 'bad batcher' behind his back. But worst of all was the silence. So he snuck off in the middle of the night to wander the one place in all of Tipoca that held some good memories for him.

In the lower levels, the only sounds you could hear was the crashing of Kamino's storm-tossed ocean against the durasteel plating protecting the city from the elemental furies and the whirring of ancient air ducts circulating stale air. Which was why the sound of flesh hitting flesh and distant cheers made his head jerk up in surprise. Quickly, he ducked into an alcove, trying to merge with the shadows within. If he were caught…

Wrench cocked his head to the side and listened intently. Now that he was focusing, he could detect a hollow quality to the sounds that told him they were echoes rather than the real thing. Whatever or whoever was making the sound – and it sure sounded like a fight to him – was still a few corridors away. Wrench had been here often enough to have a mental map of the place and he determined that the sounds had to come from one of the long defunct storage bays. He looked back up the corridor in the direction he had come from and then in the direction from where the sounds must originate. He should probably turn back; it was the safest thing to do. But the idea of going back to the barracks to face another lonely night among the ARCs didn't exactly appeal to him. Besides, where was the fun in safety?

Wrench exited the alcove and made his careful way down the corridor, keeping his back to the wall and navigating by sound and guesswork. He was pleased to see that he had been right; the commotion was definitely coming from the storage bays. And the closer he got, the surer he was about it being a fight as well.

When he got to the storage bay and took up a discreet observation post by the entrance, he was almost shocked by what he found. He had initially thought that he was hearing a fight between two people with perhaps a small crowd to encourage and antagonize the fighters. He knew for a fact that there was some severe tension between the members of the _Cuy'val Dar _and he had been witness to more than one shouting match turn into an actual exchange of blows. Particularly between Skirata and Vau, who could not apparently be in the same training area without trying to gut one another. So he thought he had stumbled across an argument Mando-style. Instead, what he saw was a group of clones, maybe fifty in all, divided into three separate rings. In the middle of each ring were two more clones, punching, kicking and jabbing at each other in what looked like truly vicious combat. Taking in the cheering onlookers, Wrench saw that all of them sported an impressive collection of bruises and minor cuts; evidence of more hand-to-hand combat.

_What is this? _He wondered. Fights among clones were not an unheard of thing. Having a few thousand men constantly stuck in each others presence, hyped up on adrenaline and trained to fight...well, tensions were almost guaranteed and even among hatchmates, personalities sometimes clashed. And without the opportunity to simply avoid one another for a while, tempers and nerves tended to fray, particularly after a group exercise went bad. But those were generally fights between two brothers, conducted in the semi-privacy of the barracks and away from the eyes of the trainers. Or, if that didn't resolve the issue, someone called one-on-one and the fight was delegated to the gym, where a training sergeant would officiate. But even Wrench, who had more than his fair share of fights behind him, had never seen this many clones engaged in violence against each other. And he had never seen a fight between brothers end in the kind of damage these clones were sporting. So what..?

Then he saw two specks of color moving between the rings and he thought he understood. One figure was male, with the armor covering his upper torso a deep, bloody red and the rest black. The other, judging by her gait, was female. Her armor was yellow and grey, with an absurd yellow kama swinging around her legs. Wrench gave a silent, breathy whistle. He had stumbled across the _Cuy'val Dar _after all. And they were making their trainees fight, judging by the encouragements the two Mandalorians were shouting.

Wrench ducked back into the corridor, back pressed against the wall and considered what he had found. He was not overly familiar with Mandalorian habits and traditions. The ARCs had learned Mando'a mostly through their association with some of the other Mandalorian training sergeants. Fett, he knew, was Mandalorian, but he was rather indifferent to his heritage. Or, at least, that was the sense Wrench always got from him. Fett rarely spoke Mandalorian to his trainees, nor did he discuss with them detailed aspects of the culture. They had all learned the _Dha Werda_ and _Vode An_, but Wrench knew that those were more of a training exercise than a cultural exchange. But simply because Fett didn't spend every waking moment immersing the Alphas in Mandalorian culture, did not mean that Wrench had spent the last eight years with his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears. And there had been some pretty interesting rumors as of late.

When the other _Cuy'val Dar _members had a problem, either with the Kaminoans or with each other, they came to Fett. And mostly, they came to him when he was training the Alphas, because Fett was very particular about how he spent his free time. So when Mij Gilamar came to report to Fett about a disturbing increase in injuries among some of the commandos, he had done so while Fett was in the middle of a training exercise with his Alphas. Wrench hadn't heard the entire exchange – he'd been too busy avoiding blaster fire in zero gravity – but he'd gathered the gist of it. Gilamar suspected two other _Cuy'val Dar _members of grossly mistreating the commandos and had demanded of Fett that he do something about it.

Listening now to the wild cheers of men on an adrenaline high and grunts and groans of those fighters who hadn't ducked fast enough, Wrench figured that whatever Fett was supposed to do, he hadn't done it yet. Either because he hadn't found out about this place, or because he had no intention of acting at all. Neither would have surprised Wrench.

There was a heavy _thunk _sound, more cheering and Wrench figured that someone must have gone down and stayed down. Over the noise of familiar male voices, came the sound of an unfamiliar voice: male, raised in excitement and with a fervor to the words that Wrench had never heard before.

"The strong survive and the weak die. As Mandalorians, we are destined to be strong. So we fight each other, because another Mandalorian is the only worthy opponent in a galaxy gone soft."

Wrench tilted his head at that, one hand unconsciously raised to the scar on the right side of his mouth. _Destined to be strong, eh? _He thought and gave a derisive snort. What did destiny have to do with it? They were clones. Being strong was engineered into them; their muscles made more resilient, their minds trained to take the pressures of combat. That wasn't destiny, just Kaminoan gene splicing.

As his hand dropped away from his face, he caught a slight tremble from the corner of his eye. Staring down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else, Wrench watched the tremor run through it, before, with the sound of fists on flesh in the background, it balled into a tight fist. Then the tremor ran through his arm, up towards his shoulder, until it spread through his body and made him shiver. He leaned his head against the durasteel wall and closed his eyes as the sensation ran through him. And behind his eyelids, he saw again the circles of clones and of the combatants circling and fighting each other.

He wanted that, he suddenly realized. He wanted to be one of those combatants; wanted it so badly that his body was reacting to it. Without thinking, Wrench pushed away from the wall and stepped into the storage hangar.

He had actually made it to the first of the three circles before somebody noticed him. It was the female Mandalorian, prowling the outer edges of the three circles like a sleek nexu. She must have caught sight of him in her helmets wrap-around vision, because her back was actually turned to him, when she suddenly swiveled about to face him. And with a blaster in her hand.

Wrench took another step, just to show her that he wasn't to be intimidated by the sight of a mere blaster. Because, he truly wasn't. Blasters had long since ceased to frighten him, along with most everything else he faced on a daily basis in the exercise yards.

"Who are you?" she snarled at him.

Wrench looked at her blaster and let a contemptuous sneer cross his face. "I could ask you the same thing. I'm sure Fett would certainly be interested in learning where the people getting Gilamar all in a twist are hiding."

The red and black clad Mandalorian joined the woman now and most of the commandos – they had to be commandos, because those were the only clones the _Cuy'val Dar _primarily dealt with – had turned to watch the altercation. Wrench noted most of the clones were cracking knuckles and looking almost eagerly from him to the two Mandos. _Like neks waiting for their master's order to jump, _he thought.

"What do you want, _shabuir_?" This from the man.

Wrench crossed his arms over his chest, letting his chin fall slightly forward, while his lips kicked into a mocking smile. He had learned this pose of insolence particularly annoyed Fett, and he figured this Mando wouldn't be any different.

"Nothing you can give me, _ruug'la jag_," he said and watched with satisfaction as the man bristled. It was never easy to get that particular reaction from a man in full armor, but Wrench delighted in the art.

The Mandalorian began to walk towards Wrench, a handful of the commandos behind him, but the woman raised one gloved hand and stopped them in their tracks. _She's got them trained, I'll give her that, _he thought, not sure if he should be admiring or disgusted.

"_Gev_!" she barked, her helmet's external speakers amplifying the sound. "_Mhi liser sushiv at megin kaysh ashnar at sirbur." _

"That's a pretty healthy attitude to take," Wrench drawled. He was starting to enjoy himself. This was so much more entertaining than prowling dusty and empty corridors by himself.

The commandos backed off, but the two Mandalorians advanced on him, both unsealing and taking off their helmets in the process. Neither of them was much to look at in Wrench's opinion. The man had short-cropped brown hair and a thin face with a lopsided mouth that made him appear constantly dissatisfied with something. The woman was of more interest to him, mostly because she was the first Human female he could observe close-up. Her hair was brown as well, though she wore it in a thin braid that swept over one shoulder. Her face was round, set and while he was certainly no expert on female attractiveness, she was certainly less pretty than the holo images he had gleaned off of his illegal surveys into the HoloNet.

He noted with some amusement that the two Mandalorians were surveying him with similar attention, eyes narrowed to take in his features.

"You're one of Fett's boys, aren't you?" The man asked. "One of his Alphas."

Wrench snarled at this, feeling his temper flare up in an instant. "I'm nobody's _boy._"

The woman sauntered up to him, one hand resting on her now reholstered blaster. The smile she sent him was thin and as sharp as a vibroblade.

"Then maybe you should tell us your name and what exactly you want from us and we can carry on with our business."

"Wrench," he spat, still glaring at the man. "And what I want," and he turned his attention back on the woman, "is a good fight."

Her smile widened and there was a glow to her eyes then that was almost unnatural.

"Well then, Wrench. I'm Isabet Reau and he's Dred Priest and you," she paused and Wrench got the distinct feeling that she was savoring the moment, "have come to the right place."

* * *

It didn't take long to explain the rules of the Battle Circle. Simply put, there were no rules. Whatever punishment you could deal out with your fists, your feet or any other parts of your body was fair game. He was not restricted to any particular fighting style, nor was there a time limit. The fight ended when one of the combatants was on the ground and no longer able to get up. As far as he was concerned, that suited him just fine.

Reau and Priest wasted no time in pairing him up with one of the commandos, while the rest gathered around them, expressions both eager and dubious. For now, theirs was the only Battle Circle. He heard speculative whispers from the commandos; questions about his training, about his strengths and weaknesses.

He rotated his neck, letting the bones crack satisfyingly, before taking up his opening stance; he stood with his feet shoulder width apart, skidding his left leg forward to the same distance, then bent his knees slightly.

The commando he was fighting watched him warily, before taking up his own stance; a classic on-guard that made him shift sideways until his right shoulder faced Wrench. Even as Wrench rocked forwards and back a little to make sure of his balance, the commando bent his knees slightly and tucked his elbows against his sides, ducking a little to make sure his fists protected his cheeks and chin.

Wrench gave the commando a sharp predatory smile. He knew this style of fighting, knew just how to drive through the commando's defenses and strike at the exposed flesh. And there was a lot of that. None of the commandos was wearing a shirt, most were only wearing their shorts and Wrench too had stripped down to the bottom half of his bodyglove.

Now he tucked his chin in and brought his hands up to his temples. From the corner of his eye, he saw Reau watching him, an eager expression on her face like a Felucian ripper who has just spotted a juicy bit of prey. He ignored her. He ignored Priest and the other commandos as well. His world, his awareness shrunk to the confines of the Battle Circle, focused on the face and body of his opponent. He hadn't asked the commando his name and didn't need to. Names were unimportant. All that mattered was the face.

The smile on his face widened until it was almost a grimace. He had longed to hit that face for a very long time now.

* * *

"That was quite impressive," Priest said.

Wrench looked at the man with disinterest, before once more taking in the prominent designs painted on the walls. The two _Cuy'val Dar _members had declared an end to that night's Battle Circle after Wrench's last match and had invited the ARC back to their quarters afterwards. Wrench knew he should have been making his way back to his barracks, but found he couldn't be bothered. The fights had tired him pleasantly and his body was still tingling from the adrenaline rush of the past two hours.

Reau walked up to him, coming to stand beside him. "Dred doesn't say such things to just anyone," she told him. "You fought four fights and won them all. That is," and she gave another one of her pauses, the one Wrench was coming to associate with her lingering over something pleasant, "_kandosii'la_."

Her words did little for him, though he watched her carefully from the corner of his eye, even as he gave a nonchalant shrug. "I'm an Alpha," he told her, smirking at her, wanting to see if it would have the same effect on her as it would have on Fett. "We're expected to win."

"I suppose so," she said, then gestured at the painting he had been looking at. "A _jai'galaar, _a shriek-hawk and the symbol of the Death Watch."

"Izzy." There was a measure of warning in Priest's tone and even slight alarm. "He's one of Fett's."

Reau shrugged, but kept her eyes fixed on Wrench. "So? Fett already knows that we're Death Watch. Hasn't stopped him from asking us to train his clones, though. That's why he hates us, you know." She said, now once more completely focused on Wrench.

"Really?" Wrench asked, feeling his interest notch up a tad. He had never met anyone else whom Fett also hated. "And why's that?"

"Because we of the Death Watch believe in a Mandalore that is more than just a collection of clans and bounty hunters." Wrench turned around to look at Priest, surprised not just that the man had answered his question, but by the sudden fervor in his voice. He no longer sounded laconic and bored, as he had before, but excited and full of conviction as he had been when Wrench had first heard him speak to the commandos in the Battle Circle.

"What we want is a return of our glory, the reestablishment of the empire we once had," Priest went on, his head turned towards the window, gazing out at the rainy Kaminoan night, but not really seeing the water spraying against the window.

"And Fett can't understand that," came Reau's voice and Wrench swung his head around quickly, alarmed at how close the woman was suddenly standing to him. "He has made himself into the ideal bounty hunter and in doing so, has forgotten what makes him a Mandalorian and our _Manda'lor." _

She stepped closer still and Wrench suddenly became aware of her smell; of lubricant oil for blasters and armor, the leather of her kama and soap she must have used to wash with. His nostrils flared at the scent, taking it in and storing it away for later.

Her gauntleted hand came up to grab a fistful of the upper half of his bodyglove, which he had pulled on again once the fighting was over.

"Now the question is, are you like Fett, or do you have _mandokar?_"

Then her mouth was on his, her lips moving against his. Wrench was rather taken by surprise, unsure of what to do. Then her teeth sunk into his bottom lip and he bit back in sheer reflex.

She pulled away from him, licking her lips and Wrench noticed for the first time that her eyes were as grey as those of any Kaminoan and they were almost unhealthily bright. His own tongue darted out to catch a few drops of blood from the split lip he'd gotten sometime during one of his fights. The wound had reopened as a result of the unusual activity.

"Not bad," she said with approval and he noted her voice had lowered slightly in register. He looked over his shoulder at Priest, wondering if the man would interfere. He was no expert of course, but he had thought the two were involved somehow.

But Priest had taken a seat on one of the couches. Legs slightly apart, he was watching them, but made no move to intervene. Instead he was slowly removing bits of his armor, working his way upwards from his boots.

Noticing his observation of Priest, Reau leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of his ear and making him shiver. "Later," she said. Her hand was still fisted in his shirt.

He turned back to her, reassured that, for now, there would be no sneak attacks from behind.

She began to kiss him again, her mouth demanding, her hand slipping beneath the material of the bodyglove to trace the patterns of the muscles of his abdomen. He let her proceed for a while, but docility had never been in his nature.

Working from the memory of a few hacked holos of the more interesting variety, scenes he had witnessed between his own brothers and sheer instinct, Wrench broke the kiss and moved his hands up to Reau's shoulders and began to press her down.

Reau met his gaze, her eyes flashing with that unnatural light and it occurred to Wrench that she was quite possibly insane.

"A man who knows what he wants," she purred and gave in to the urging of his hands.

He didn't reflect on his observations. In fact, he dismissed them wholly from his mind and gave himself over to the new sensations coursing through his body. His head fell back slightly and a small groan of pleasure worked itself free from his lips as Reau used her hands and mouth on him. It was as good as being in a fight.

* * *

Over the next few months, Wrench returned often to that storage hangar and to Reau's and Priest's quarters.

They thought they were recruiting him for their cause, bringing him around to their way of thinking. And though he knew that they were using the enticement of fighting and sex to lure him in, he let them believe that they were succeeding. Because he had his own reasons for wanting what they were offering.

He wanted the fights, those in the Battle Circle and those afterwards, in the bed or on the floor or against the wall. He craved the adrenaline and the endorphins rushing through his system and the way his body would feel loose and slack afterwards. He needed the chance to drive his fist into the face that mocked or taunted or ignored him every day. He desired the experiences of the flesh, all of them. It was all about the release these acts of pleasure were giving him.

It didn't matter that Reau and Priest were using him to their own ends. That was fine with him. Let them think they were buying him over to their side. He would use them just as thoroughly.

* * *

**Translation**: _Cuy'val Dar_ = those who no longer exist, _shabuir_ = jerk, _ruug'la jag_ = old man, _Gev_ = Stop, or stop it, _Mhi liser at sushiv at megin kaysh ashnar at sibur_ = We can listen to what he has to say, _kandosii'la_ = stunning, amazing, _mandokar_ = the right stuff, the epitome of Mandalorian virtue, aggression, tenacity, loyalty, a lust for life


	23. Chapter 23: 24 BBY

**Author's Note: **Dear readers, you will find mention of one Alpha-85, "Tully", in this chapter. This amazing character belongs to the equally amazing **laloga, **who has been kind enough to allow Tully to come out and play. That being said...*waves hand in front of your face* You will go and read all of **laloga's **stories. Those are the stories you are looking for.

* * *

**Hands All Red**

"_My secret side I keep/ Hid under lock and key_

_I keep it caged/ But I can't control it_

_Cause if I let him out/ He'll tear me up_

_And break me down_

_Why won't somebody come and save me from this?" _

"_Monster" by Skillet _

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 24 BBY

Leading a double life was far more strenuous than Wrench would have thought at first. He had his regular training from early dawn till well into the night. Then, as soon as lights out began, he would make his stealthy way out of the barracks and return to the lower levels. There, he would take his place in the Battle Circles and afterwards, in Reau's and Priest's bed, only to sneak back into the Alphas barracks shortly before dawn. On average, he was getting perhaps two or three hours of sleep a night. And his body was beginning to slow down as result. Which resulted in more bruises and cuts and lumps on his body from the fights and in extra punishment details from Fett, which, in turn, cut further into his sleep.

He knew he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He would soon have to decide when to sit out a Battle Circle meeting, or else, he would do more than just incur Fett's wrath. He might get the man curious enough to investigate.

So he knew he was coming to the end of something. A decision would have to be reached, but he kept postponing, pushing himself and his endurance further and further. He would be the first to admit that he was addicted to the thrill of the fights and the sex. But Wrench was not stupid. He had been trained to listen to his body, to become aware of his own limits and to know how far he could push past them. And he knew that a break was coming and coming soon.

It was just, that when the break did come, he would never have imagined it would be so bad.

* * *

Wrench drove his fist into the commando's bare abdomen. The other clone gave a grunt, but kept himself from doubling over and managed to slip a fist past Wrench's own defenses. Wrench saw the commando's bloodied knuckles drive towards his face, but found he could not react quickly enough to evade the blow. The hard ridges of the knuckles impacted with the left side of his face and drove him to stagger backwards under the force of the blow. Wrench felt his lip split in two different places against his teeth, felt one tooth loosen in his gum.

He quickly retreated two steps, bringing his fists up once more to protect the sides of his face. The commando too took some distance, using the opportunity to catch his breath from the punch to his gut. In the meantime, Wrench prodded the tooth with his tongue to see whether or not it had been knocked completely loose. If it had, he'd better get rid of it know or risk choking on it later. But no, his tongue found the tooth wriggling only slightly. Loose, but not ready to fall out.

Around them, the storage hangar was filled with noise; the shouting and jeering of the other commandos, Reau and Priest barking orders or intoning some of their beloved Death Watch mantras. And of course, the air reverberated with the dull, hard sounds of fists against flesh and the groans, moans and curses of the fighters.

Wrench began to circle his opponent, breathing heavily and not just from the exertions of the fight. His day of training had culminated in a six hour training session of dodging blaster fire in intermittent null gravity and without jetpacks, armed with the heavy Z-6 rotary blaster cannon the entire time.

His arms shook with the strain and his reflexes had been reduces to pathetic reactions. He was slowing down, his head thick with exhaustion. And for the first time in his life, Wrench wasn't sure whether or not he was going to win a hand-to-hand fight.

The circle of commandos surrounding them was becoming restless by their circling.

"C'mon you two _hu'tuun_! Throw a kriffing _gaanynir_!"

"We came to see a fight! Not dancing!"

The commando's eyes slid briefly towards the crowd of his brothers, then back to Wrench. Wrench knew he should have used that second of inattention to get in close and strike a blow, but found he just couldn't motivate his body to do so.

_I'm kriffed, _he thought and felt a wave of near overwhelming exhaustion come over him at that point. He was just so tired. Tired of it all: always fighting, either Fett, or one of the other Alphas or the current training scenario or a commando. What did it really matter?

Unlike Wrench, the commando did not waste an opportunity when he saw it. Something must have alerted him to the fact that his opponent's spirits were failing, – perhaps a droop in Wrench's shoulders, or a miniscule lowering of his fists, or maybe nothing more than the intrinsic instinct of a well-trained predator – because with a shout, the commando charged Wrench.

Wrench had no time to react. The other clone bowled him over, grabbed him around the waist, pinning his arms in the process and gave one massive heave. Wrench was momentarily lifted from the ground, his bare toes barely touching the grimy floor. The sensation lasted only a minute, before he was forcefully flung onto the ground, with about eighty kilos of clone pinning him down.

His head connected painfully with the welded durasteel plates, sending a sick cracking sensation through the top of his skull, all the way down his spine. His jaws came together forcefully, making them ache and sending bursts of pain through his cheekbones and up, behind his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he stared into a pair of the exact shade of brown as his. The commando's lips quirked up into a triumphant smile.

"What's the matter, soldier? Can't take the pressure anymore?"

Looking back, he would never quite know what happened next or what had set him off. Perhaps it was being called "soldier" in the exact same tone that Fett always used just before he gave Wrench added punishment details or when he was assigned another task in which his failure was preprogrammed. Or perhaps it was the curl of the commando's lip in that exact moment, mirroring perfectly the smile Alpha gave him, just before he would be subject to another scathing insult or another dogmatic harangue about his aberrant behavior.

Or maybe it was the fact that it was his own face that was suddenly looming over him. The face of a man who had not been able to save his brother, who continuously failed to avenge the one person who had actually given a crap about him. Or it was the words themselves and the intrinsic truth behind them.

Either way, Wrench snapped.

There was no buzz this time, no build up of emotion. One moment there was pain, tired muscles and a sore head and the next, he was overcome by the roaring fury and hate that had taken him over the night Asher had died and that day by the Sickener.

It worked itself through his body, making his muscles tense, drowning him in adrenaline. He was aware that the commando's eyes had gone wide with surprise, before he slammed his forehead into the other clone's face.

There was the crunch of bone, then a scream of both surprise and pain. The commando jerked back involuntarily, his nose dripping blood that landed, hot and sticking, onto Wrench's face. But he didn't notice. All that mattered was, that in his surprise, the commando had loosened his grip around Wrench.

Wrench twisted his arms free, then wrapped them and his legs around the commando. They rolled, reversing their positions, pining the other clone beneath him.

The commandos watching them roared, either in approval or dismay, but Wrench didn't hear them. The roaring in his head was far louder. He brought his fist up; teeth bared like a wild and crazed animal, and began to punch.

He punched the commando's face over and over and over again, losing count of his strikes and not caring. Losing all feeling in his hands and not caring. Getting splattered by the commando's blood and not caring. Nothing mattered. Not the crowd that had suddenly gone silent, only to erupt into a different kind of shouting. Not the hands that were trying to tear him away or the blood coming from his ripped and torn knuckles mixing with that of his now motionless opponent. Wrench saw red and that was all.

What finally disrupted his manic fixation was an armored arm curling around his neck and tightening against his Adam's apple, cutting off his air. There was a familiar voice shouting, cutting through the pandemonium.

"Get him off of that trooper. Now!"

Later, he would learn that Fett had finally had enough of the injury reports Gilamar kept shunting his way, of learning of clones dying in the aftermath of some internal injuries. He had gathered some of the other _Cuy'val Dar _members and had decided to raid the storage hangar and put an end to the Battle Circles once and for all. Wrench would learn that his had been the last fight; that Fett had come in just in time to see him go berserk.

But that, like much else about that night, would come to him later. For now, there was the choking of the armored arm, then a sharp pain as a hypospray was pressed against his neck. His body went slack almost immediately.

Another arm joined the one around his neck and he was dragged off of the commando's body. Just before the sedatives took effect, Wrench caught sight of the commando's face. There wasn't much left. Nothing but bloody pulp and a hint of white where a piece of bone protruded from broken skin. Gilamar was working frantically on him, but even as his mind went numb, Wrench knew it was useless.

As his eyes shut, he took with him the sight of that obliterated face and his hands covered in blood.

* * *

Wrench leaned his head against the wall and tried to breathe in air that wasn't stale and filled with the scent of sweat, urine and fear. Most of all though, he was trying to avoid the sight of his hands and the smell of blood.

He had woken from the sedative enforced sleep to find himself slumped in a room no more than thirty-one by twenty-three inches in diameter. The ceiling was just barely high enough to allow him to stand.

He knew this room of course. It was a closet that had been modified into a tiny isolation cell on the floor where the training for interrogations was done. Outside of this dark and dank cell, he knew there were other rooms, each designed to a specific scenario, all meant for the purpose of preparing the ARCs and the commandos for a time in the future, when they might fall into enemy hands.

But this was not a training exercise and Wrench knew this was not meant to break him. This was merely confinement; a temporary prison until someone, most likely Fett, decided what to do with him.

Wrench didn't know how long the sedative had knocked him out, but he found himself wishing it had been longer. That deep oblivion would be preferable to his current mental anguish.

The sight of the commando's face, what he had done to it, would not let him be. He didn't even have to close his eyes to see it. Shivers racked his body, though it was very warm in this small cell. What had he done? Why had he done it? What was wrong with him?

The questions circled around in his head and all the while, he tried not to look at his hands. He had done so once, shortly after groggily coming awake. The sight of his bruised and swollen knuckles covered in blood had unleashed a torrent of images, all culminating in that single, final one and he had heaved with disgust, covering the small expanse of floor and his still bare feet with vomit. And he had continued to dry heave long after that.

What had he done? _What had he done!_

He brought his arms up over his head, pressing them and his face further against the wall. His gasping breaths turned into something like sobs, though his eyes remained dry. He had not cried in years and doubted he still had the ability. But that did not lessen the agony of his mind that was threatening to tear him apart.

The door of the cell suddenly swooshed open and a painful shaft of glaring light stabbed at his sensitive eyes. He flinched back, even as fresh air came into the cell and he became aware for the first time, just how bad the air inside had become.

"Out."

For once, Wrench obeyed without a protest, his eyes firmly fixed on the ground and his bare toes.

"Stop."

He stopped.

"Look at me, soldier."

Wrench raised disinterested eyes and looked squarely into the face of Jango Fett. And for once, the perpetual surprise of finding himself of equal height with the man who had towered above him for as long as he could remember was utterly absent.

Over Fett's armored shoulder, he could see the faces of the other Alphas. He glanced around and for the first time noticed that they were all there. No. Not **all. **Only those that had survived so far.

The other Alphas were arranged in a loose circle around him and Fett, their faces mostly stony with a few pinched expressions mixed in. Some, like Alpha and Nate, looked downright disgusted and sickened.

Behind them, standing in an uneven crescent, were a handful of _Cuy'val Dar, _armored and their faces blanked by their helmets. He didn't see Reau or Priest in that arrangement, and he wondered disinterestedly what had happened to them. Fett had never been fond of those two.

"You all know why we're here," Fett said, addressing the two groups at large, but keeping his gaze fixed on Wrench. Arms crossed over his chest, Fett had, unlike the other Mandalorians, left his helmet clipped to his belt. His face was stern, impassive almost, and as always, he cut an impressive and fearful sight.

"Alpha-20 has committed a crime. Several in fact." And here Fett raised one fist and began to tick off the varying points on his fingers. "Starting with breaking regulations and leaving his barracks after lights out, he has engaged in illegal fighting with clones not of his own variant. He has disobeyed, broken and ignored almost every aspect of the Code, the reg manual and the oath he has taken. All of this," and here he raised his voice, pitching it to make sure that every one of the Alphas heard, "paling in comparison to his last crime. The willful killing of another clone."

There was a low murmur and a shifting of nervous and disturbed feet. Clones died during training. It was a fact that many of the Alphas had come to accept, though it practically never happened in their ranks. No, these were stories circulated to them from the commandos and the regular troopers, to be listened to in sympathy and slight scorn. But to have a clone die through the direct actions of another? It went against everything they were, everything they believed in and had been training for. The concept was absolutely…alien.

Wrench's eyes swept over the assembled clones once more. Alpha-85 looked downright horrified at the announcement, though he quickly composed his face into a blank mask when he caught Wrench staring at him. Tully never was a man who liked others to see what was going on inside of him. But at least he didn't look away. Most of the ARCs did, as if afraid his attention might contaminate them in some way; infect them with his deviance, his madness. Others that did meet his eyes let him know just how disgusted they were, how much they loathed him. Whatever ties he had still had to them, were now irrevocably severed. He might still be an Alpha, but he was no longer one of them. He found he could not muster any anger at the realization. Only a resigned sort of sadness.

"I want you to know that you will be punished for this, Alpha-20," Fett said, for the first time addressing him directly. Wrench didn't look at him; his eyes remained blankly fixed on some point on the far wall. Unlike the rest of Tipoca City, the walls, ceiling and floors on this level were not the usual glaring white. Here, the dominating color was a dirty grey, the seamless durasteel streaked with a number of unsavory substances. Evidence of the particular training that took place here.

"Alpha-20!"

Fett's shout brought him back to the present and he realized the other man must have been calling his name for a while. His eyes traveled away from the wall and focused on his trainer's face. For the first time, Fett did not appear impassive.

"I asked you, if you had anything to say?"

"What's there to say?" he asked.

"Why'd you do it, _ad'ika_?" The question came from Skirata, his voice low and choked with emotion, even through the helmet's speakers.

Why had he done it? Why did that matter? Why now?

"This is a waste of time, Fett," said Vau. He, unlike Skirata, sounded simply bored. "This ARC has clearly lost all sense of control. It's time to cut your losses and put him down like the rabid animal that he is."

With a snarl, the gold armored figure of Skirata turned on Vau. "A _rabid animal_? That's quite the _shabla_ _nuhun, _coming from the man who's constantly…"

"Kal! Walon! Both of you shut up."

Both helmets, black and sandy gold, turned towards Fett. The bounty hunter threw both of them a warning look over his shoulder. For a moment, it seemed like Skirata would continue the argument, but then the smaller man stepped back to his place in the crescent of Mandalorians. There was silence once more.

Fett turned his attention back on Wrench. "I'll ask you again, soldier. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Wrench hadn't really listened to the brief argument. While Skirata had had his outbursts, his eyes had once more fallen onto his torn hands. He stared at the blood encrusted there, knowing that it wasn't all his and yet, was. It hadn't all come from his body, but under a genetic scanner, it would be the same blood, from the same man. From the man who was standing before him now.

He wasn't aware that he had said anything, until Fett lowered his eyebrows in irritation and ordered him to speak up.

Wrench met Fett's eye evenly this time. "I wanted it to be you."

For a brief moment, the impenetrable mask of sullen aloofness that marked Fett's face lifted. His face changed, seemed to soften almost and Wrench thought he saw something like pity on the other man's face.

"You damned fool," he said, quietly, so that only Wrench could hear. Then anger replaced the softness and for one of the few times since their feud had begun, Fett threw the first punch.

The blow caught Wrench square on the jaw, followed quickly by another right to his kidney. Wrench was still bare-chested from his time in the Battle Circle, dressed in nothing but the bottoms of his bodyglove. Fett, except for his helmet, was fully armored. Wrench went down like a stone dropped into a deep river.

His legs gave way almost in relief, his body impacting heavily with the cold floor. He felt the injuries from his fights shriek in protest, felt the formation of new bruises and groaned in pain. But he welcomed the pain. He deserved the pain. And with the pain, came some of the old anger again.

Curling up instinctively from the blow to his kidney, Wrench used it as a cover for the movement of his hand snaking to his left ankle. He saw Fett raise his boot for a kick and rolled out of reach. At the same time, he yanked a small, makeshift knife out of a self-made ankle holster.

Wrench lurched back onto his feet; his entire body a single agonized burning. But the time he had spent sedated had, if not been restful, at least given his body a chance to recover a little strength. He gripped the knife's handle tightly between his fingers and charged at Fett.

The knife was really nothing more than a long piece of shrapnel, left over from a droid that had been destroyed in one of their numerous battle exercises. Wrench had taken it, sharpening the edges and wrapping a piece of discarded cloth around one end as a hilt. It had been nothing more than an impulse at the time and the thing would never hold up long in a fight. He had known that, but he had still carried it with him at all times. And now, it did its work.

Wrench obscured the makeshift knife with his body, angling his charge towards the right, letting Fett believe that, like so many years ago, he was trying to make a grab for the man's blaster. Fett took the bait. He began to twist his body to the left, falling for the feint. Wrench quickly threw himself to the left, intercepting Fett's body. He barreled into the armored man, wrapped one arm around his torso and with the other hand, stabbed the knife as hard as he could into the gap between the chest plate and the piece of armor protecting Fett's hip.

Fett screamed, his left leg buckled and they both went down. Wrench felt blood – fresh and hot – once more cover his hand.

But Fett wasn't done. With a snarl, the bounty hunter ejected the vibroblade from his gauntlet and tried to drive it between Wrench's ribs. Wrench let go of his own knife, grabbed the armored wrist and stopped the vibroknife just as the tip pushed against his bare skin. His other hand went up just in time to catch Fett's from delivering another blow to his face. The two men strained, each trying to push back on the other's arms. Wrench felt the blood pounding in his ears, felt sweat trickle down his face and spine. The tip of the vibroblade began to break through his skin, to draw blood.

The barest flicker of Fett's eyes was his only warning that someone had come up behind him. Then his world exploded in a glaring flash of bluish-white light.

Something touched his back, right in the middle above the spine, he knew that much. Then there was a heat so intense that in the first few seconds it felt cold. His head snapped back, his limbs began to jerk crazily as his muscles seized uncontrollably. He fell to the floor, only dimply aware that Fett was no longer beneath him.

He was barely conscious, the world fading in and out in white flashes. He made a token attempt to get back up, more out of ingrained training then any memory as to why he wanted to. There was a shout, then the hot-cold pain came again, hitting the exact same spot as before and his world dissolved into blinding electricity.

* * *

He floated in and out of consciousness, scraps of reality mixing with his fever induced hallucinations. He thought he remembered hearing Skirata's voice, arguing about needing a bacta tank.

Then he saw Asher; Asher, still looking like a three-year-old boy, his eyes dark and accusing. Wrench called to him, called his name, begged his brother to talk to him, to forgive him. But when Asher spoke, his voice was deep and sharp; his words in the clipped cadence of Jango Fett.

"He got himself into this. He'll live or die by his own strength."

Then his brother was gone; disappeared as completely and suddenly as on that night five years ago.

There were other faces, other voices that haunted him, called out to him. He saw the commando again and again, his face in unrecognizable ruins. Wrench pleaded with the commando to tell him his name, but unlike his other hallucinations, he never spoke to Wrench. He only stared and watched.

It was a painfully bright beam of light that finally ripped him into wakefulness. Cool, slender fingers pealed back his other eyelid and the beam of light came again, forcing his pupil to contract painfully. He jerked away only to hiss from the sudden, burning pain of his back.

"It is good to see you have returned to full consciousness, CT-20-4371. But you must be mindful of your movements. The burn on your lumbar region is quite severe and will be sensitive for some time to come."

Wrench blinked in confusion, his brain momentarily overloaded on information, as he tried to digest everything that he was seeing and hearing.

He turned towards the fluting voice; saw the tall and slender figure of a Kaminoan medic looking down at him serenely. Her grey eyes watched him with the curiosity of a mildly interested parent watching a not very bright child perform a trick she had seen a hundred times before.

Behind her, Wrench saw the white walls against which were arranged a plethora of medical equipment and a privacy curtain drawn halfway shut. Medical. He was in one of the medical sections.

And then a downright storm of memories overwhelmed him and he looked down at his hands to see them clean of blood, but covered in newly formed scars. He tried to claw his way out of the memories and grabbed at something else the Kaminoan had said.

"What did you call me?"

If she was affronted by his brusque tone, she gave no sign. "CT-20-4371," she answered placidly.

"No," Wrench shook his head, though the movement hurt his neck. "No. You made a mistake. I'm ARC Alpha-20."

"There is no mistake, CT-20-4371," she told him, her voice still completely even and unruffled, as if his confusion were nothing out of the ordinary. "Your identity has been made absolutely clear." She handed him a data scanner, then bent her long, graceful neck, so as to peer more closely at him. "It has been suggested that you review your file, so that there can be no confusion in the future."

Wrench watched her glide away in that curios Kaminoan gait, stunned and confused. She closed the privacy curtain completely and he was left alone. For the moment.

He looked at the data scanner for a moment, feeling dread well up inside of him. Then, slowly, he waved the scanner over the identification code on his wrist. The holo flickered to life before him and he read the information with a sickening sense of finality.

He was CT-20-4371, assigned to Company D/Beta – 7, housed in barracks 67.5/H. on the ninth level. He was a good shot, slotted for sniper training. His results from training exercises were satisfactory and within the allowed parameters. He had injured his back during a training run involving flamethrowers. He was not Alpha-20. He was not an ARC. And his closest association with Jango Fett was his identical genes.

Wrench lay back down on the hospital bed and closed his eyes. He wondered why. Why this and not reconditioning?

But in the weeks that followed, as he tried to adjust to a world as alien to him as the one outside of Tipoca City's walls; as he had to learn a new slang, adjust his steps to a new way of walking and as his nights were haunted by the faces of the dead, he understood why.

_Cin vhetin. _

Reconditioning would have meant the chance to forget. To forget who he was and what he had done. To begin life completely anew and to reinvent himself. Reconditioning would have been kind.

* * *

**Translation: **_hu'tuun_ = cowards,_ gaanynir _= punch, _ad'ika _= little one (son or daughter), _shabla _= screwed up (impolite), _nuhun _= joke, _cin vhetin _= fresh start, clean slate, lit. white field, virgin snow.


	24. Chapter 24: 24 BBY

**Family Matters**

"_But remember me in ribbons and curls._

_I still love you more than anything in the world._

_Love, your baby girl!" _

"_Love, Your Baby Girl" by Sugarland_

* * *

Dantooine, Garang city, 24 BBY

Garang was one of the few cities ever built by the settlers of Dantooine and as such, it was a mynock's nest of activity; shops, trading stalls, market places and spaceports were overcrowded with various sentient species. Though not nearly as crowded or diverse as Coruscant, there was a vibrancy in the streets of Garang that made Ro's head buzz in pleasant excitement. With the energetic _endeavor _that permeated the groups of merchants, stall owners, artisans and shoppers, Ro herself felt so energized she thought she actually could have run into several directions at once. It was just all so _alive, _so _natural _and she wanted to see **everything**.

What finally decided her on one direction was a quick glimpse of a small group of Dantari, Dantooine's endangered natives. They were big, heavily muscled, black-haired near-Humans who roamed the coastline and rarely entered the larger settlements. What had caught her eye were the crude, yet intricate tattoos that decorated the skin of two of the five Dantari. Almost immediately her curiosity had been awakened and would not let her be until she had cataloged each and every design. She had been playing with the idea of getting a tattoo herself and ever since had found herself endlessly fascinated by those who did.

She had followed the Dantari for a few blocks and was just starting to receive some very dirty looks from them, when Ro spotted something bright and shiny from the corner of her eye. Instantly diverted, the girl broke off her pursuit of the Dantari and made a beeline towards that small speck of brightly glimmering…something.

A few steps through the bustling crowd and Ro found herself in front of a small stall displaying a wide variety of jewelry. Mostly rings and bracelets had been set onto the display top of the stall, whereas a variety of necklaces hung from pegs set into the wooden poles holding up the stall's canopy. The owner, a male Sullustan, appeared almost instantly before her.

"Can I help you, miss?" He asked, in his species distinctive nasal voice.

"I felt," she stopped and pushed some strands of her platinum blond hair out of her eyes. Telling people she'd had a feeling about them or the objects around them tended to end in strange stares and nervous whispers. "I was interested in this," she said instead and tapped the object that had caught her eye from the other side of the street.

"Ah," the Sullustan said and took the necklace from its peg, displaying it to her on the palm of his hand. "An excellent choice. Won't find many of these on the market anymore. Went out of fashion almost five years ago." And he shrugged his large, squat shoulders in an expression of bewilderment at the fickle nature of fashion.

Ro wasn't really paying attention to the stall owner. She was fascinated by the necklace. It was a locket of some kind: round and about half the size of her palm, attached to a simple ribbon of black silk. Against the Sullustan's own grey skin, the locket's copper color with the gold flourishes seemed to almost pulse. Ro felt a tug in her mind, the barest sensation of a feather caressing the nape of her neck.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's a holo-locket," the Sullustan said and pressed a small button set at the top of the locket where the ribbon was attached to a small loop. The cover of the locket sprang open, revealing a small holocam in its hollow innards. "See, you make a holo of whatever you want, like this," and he pressed the button again, pointing the locket at her face. "The camera takes the picture and stores it. You get to keep the memories and look at them whenever you want." He showed her a small wheel set into the side of the locket and turned it downwards. Instantly, the holocam sprang to life and Ro found herself looking at a holo of her own face, eyes wide and slightly startled.

"Good resolution," the Sullustan continued his salespitch. "Large storage capacity. People used to use them like a diary. Now," and he shrugged again. "Out of fashion." He regarded her with his large, almond-shaped eyes, a calculating look in their black depths. "Sell it for twenty creds."

Ro looked from the locket to the Sullustan and back. She wanted it, but that didn't mean she'd pay through the nose for it. "Fifteen," she told him. "You said yourself they're out of fashion."

The Sullustan gave a theatrical gasp, his dewflaps wiggling in mock outrage. "You want to send me to the poorhouse. I need to make a profit. Nineteen creds."

Ro put her hands on her hips, tossing her head back and making her hair fly. She loved a good bargain. "Seventeen. Take it or leave." She eyed the Sullustan from beneath her bangs, her smile mischievous. "And you know you'll take it."

There were a few more theatrical groans and protestations from the Sullustan; obviously he enjoyed haggling as much as she did, but they did settle on seventeen credits. Which was lucky for Ro, because it was all the pocketmoney she'd gotten from Master Altis.

* * *

Dantooine, Taikaha plains

Outside of the city, Dantooine was a planet of wide open spaces and Ro found herself as fascinated by their emptiness as she had been by crowded Garang. Even as she rode past at nearly four-hundred km/h, Ro found herself constantly trying to look back at the spiky forms of the blba trees or craning her head at a lowflying flock of brith. The lavender and yellow grasses became blurred streakes of color and the air smelled fresh and sweet. It was spring on Dantooine and Ro was going home.

When she braked the bike to a full stop, Ro found herself in a large, flat area of the plains, with gentle hills in the distance. Dismounting from the speeder bike, she found the grasses came almost to her knees. _No one's been here for a while, _she thought. The wind caught up with her and gently rustled the tall grass. Ro could hear the sound of flowing water nearby, several small rivers and rivulets that had formed after the floods fifteen years before. Letting her hands trail over the tops of the grass, while enjoying the feel of them tickling the bare skin of her legs, Ro made her way towards a lone blba tree.

The tree was set next to a small rivulet of water, very shallow but clear, its bed lined with small pebbles. Ro watched the water for a moment as the sun reflected off of the moving surface and created small showers of light. Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, she turned to look at the tree.

It was relatively short, about seven feet in height, with long branches that swept upwards, towards the sun, and ended in sharp spikes. Its green leaves fluttered in the wind, almost as if agitated by having a visitor intruding on their solitude. Her teal eyes traveled down the tree's bulgy trunk and came to rest on a grey stone, four feet high with a rounded top.

_To the Victims of the Floods in the Spring of Catastrophy. _

_You are Gone, but Never Forgotten._

_Clan Arhen. _

Beneath the epitaph came a long list of names, fourty-nine people in all. It could have been fifty-one. Ro reached out one tentative hand and gently traced two names halfway up the list. "Hi mom, hi dad. I came home."

The wind in the tree and the grass was her only answer.

It was perfectly natural for the children of the Temple to become curious about their origins at some point and the Archives held extensive information about each child taken into the Order. There was no rule prohibiting the children from accessing this information and so when Garett and Ro had become curious about their origins, they had simply sat down at one of the private information cubicles in the Archives and requested their files.

Sitting here in front of the marker that commemorated her family, her feet neatly tucked to one side of her, Ro could still remember that bright, sharp feeling that had filled her when she had first set eyes on her parents.

Larna had been a small woman, with dainty features and a face that seemed made for smiling. Looking at her, Ro remembered how Garett had given an amused snort. "You look like our mother, Ro."

Ro, who could never tolerate thinking of her older brother deficient in any way, had instantly commented, "So do you."

It was true. Garett had inherited the same color of eyes and hair as their mother and further inspection revealed this coloring to have been a common trait among the Arhen line. But other than that, it was clear that Garett had inherited more from their father.

The information on Gossinger had revealed a large man originally from Corellia, something that had caused Garett to roll his eyes and mutter, "That explains _so much_." The accompanying picture showed a man with broad shoulders and barrel-chested. Ro remembered that even at eleven, Garett had shown a tendency towards the same build. He had been shooting up like a weed for years, and he had been adding muscle and width in his shoulders and chest. Back then, Ro had always liked to tease her brother about how he was going to beggar the Temple with his need for new robes almost every week.

Ro closed her eyes and recalled more details about her father. In the picture in the Archives, he'd been wearing the uniform of an Antarian Ranger; hands resting on his holsters, his unruly mop of red hair tied back into a short ponytail, a wild red beard covering the lower half of his face. It had been a hard face, but as with her mother, Ro had seen evidence of a man who loved to laugh.

_Another family trait, apparently, _she thought and had to smile, while the Dantooine breeze played with the fringes of her long hair. It was nice to have so much in common with the people closest to you.

The siblings had uncovered much more information about their family that day. There was, in fact, a suprising amount of information available, extending from the immediate family to various cousins, uncles and aunts of second and third degree. She and Garett had wondered about that, but now Ro knew it had been her father's doing. As a Ranger, Gossinger would know the value of having his relatives registered somewhere, just in case.

That thought made her look back at the stone marker and the names engraved on it. "Just in case," she murmured quietly. "Just in case something happened and someone had to find you. So that something about you was known." She brushed the top of the marker, sweeping away some fallen leaves and dirt. "So that your son and daughter can know you."

The thought made her smile, though it was sad. She wondered if Gossinger had, perhaps, had an incline of what could happen, when he had registered his family not just with the local authorities, but with the central bureaucrats on Coruscant as well. There was no evidence in the records that he had been Force-sensitive, nor any suggestion that someone in the Arhen family had been. But Gossinger and Larna had produced two Force-sensitive children, so the affinity had to have been there.

"I just wish I could remember you," she told the silent stone. Garett had a few dim memories of their family and had shared them with his sister, but Ro had simply been too young. All she could remember of her childhood on Dantooine was expressed in her nightmare about drowning in darkness.

Ro shook herself. She did not want to think about her nightmare. "I'm being silly, as Garett would say," she told the stone and smiled ruefully. Then she clapped her hands together and the smile became far brighter. "I'm actually not here to be all sad. No point in that, after all. What I really wanted to do was tell you all about Garett and me. The Jedi say that when we die, we become one with the Force and that means we are present in all things and all times, but I figured you'd appreaciate a visit anyways," and she gave the stone a jovial pat on its rounded top.

She spent the rest of the day talking about hers and Garett's life in the Temple; their difficulties and triumphs, their fights and playtimes. She told her family about her decision to leave the Order, to join Master Altis and his band of Jedi.

"I guess," she explained to them, "I'm going to follow in dad's footsteps. Master Altis has been telling me about something called a Jedi Investigator and I think that's what I wanna be. I wanna hunt monsters when no one else cares. I wanna help those everyone else ignores. Like a Ranger, eh. 'What others abandon, we protect'." She quickly waved her hands in the air, as if warding off a verbal protest. "I know, I know. That's a Sector Ranger motto, but I still think it applies."

She told them about Garett, how he had risen to the position of a star pupil within the Order, the Padawan of a member of the High Council.

"He's only twenty, but I hear that Master Koth is already preparing him for the Trials. Just imagine, another two or three years and Garett will be a Knight." And Ro squealed in delight at her brother's success while the blba tree's leaves danced in excitement.

By the time the sun was setting, Ro's mouth was dry from all the talking she had done. She needed to head back to Garang soon, to meet up with Master Altis and the others. She just had one more thing to say to her family.

Carefully, she lifted the ribbon of her new locket over her head and showed it to the stone. "I bought this today in Garang. Something inside me just had to have it and now I know why." She pressed the button on the top, heard the small _click _as the cover sprung open. "I don't remember any of you," she admitted. "But I want to remember. You're my family and I'm going to make sure that you'll be a part of my life." Gently, she pressed the button again and the holocam inside the locket recorded the picture of the stone with her family's names, sitting beneath the tree.

Ro placed the ribbon back around her neck and got up to leave. Casting one last look at the marker, she made a promise to it and the wind sweeping over the grass and through the blba leaves.

"I won't forget you again. And I'll make sure I never forget another member of my family ever again."


	25. Chapter 25: 23 BBY

**A Chance, A Reason**

"_Third brother, 1989_

_Got me through it, opened up the line._

_Stand tall, I'll follow you this time_

_We're all just waiting on a sign." _

"_1961" by The Fray _

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 23 BBY

The mess hall that the regular troopers used was both larger and far more crowded than anything Wrench had been used to. Seating roughly a hundred ARCs was a far different business than seating a couple of thousand troopers and the first time he had walked into the mess, the sheer noise had nearly overwhelmed him. While this variant of clone tended to be far less boisterous than the ARCs during mealtimes, their overwhelming numbers created a general din of conversation that appeared both endlessly continuous and stentorian. It had taken Wrench nearly a week to adapt, to be able to filter out single conversations or to concentrate enough on his food to ignore the ceaseless chatter. In a way, it had been like getting used to the constant flow of information from his HUD.

But even after all these months the crowding still bothered him. Alright, so the ARCs hadn't exactly luxuriated in privacy either, but at least in their mess, they'd had some elbowroom. There had even been the possibility of creating the feeling of separateness, of leaving enough room between each other to mark affiliation or the distance of personal space. Here? No chance of either.

No matter how early or late he began his scheduled break, there was never the chance to simply sit alone in an isolated corner and enjoy a moment of peace. There was always some other trooper sitting next to him or across from him, babbling to a squad or bunkmate.

And the things they talked about. Fek! Even that barve Alpha could have come up with better conversation. It was always about training, or about the regs, or weapons and even then, never a bit of complaint. The uniformity of it all gave him a headache, though he kept any and all acerbic remarks strictly to himself. It was better that way. And besides, he couldn't really blame them. The lives of these poor meat cans were even more restricted than his own had been and they were under the constant eye of the Kaminoans. And the frakking long necks were always on the lookout for any 'aberrant' behavior. Another good reason for keeping his head down and to bite his tongue. Literally, if necessary.

But even doing all of that, Wrench was not exactly considered a sought-after seating partner for mealtimes. The other clones in his company had quickly learned that this newest addition to their ranks was not to be trifled with. His skills had earned them recommendations during training, but they had witnessed outbursts of his temper in the semi-privacy of their barracks and the few private challenges that had been issued and carried out during the scheduled gym time had taught them retaliation against him for some slight was unwise. He didn't share in their jokes, nor in their tentative speculations about what the galaxy outside of Kamino would be like. He had come into their barracks when the company had already been well established, with firm friendships and groups in place. He was the replacement for another trooper who had gotten killed during an exercise and the fact that he made no attempt to join one of their groups or to express his condolences over their loss had not endeared him to them. He was the alien among them, and Wrench made no effort to alleviate that situation. He was used to standing on the outside and besides, he had discovered that in this close-packed world, being the unwanted outsider had its advantages.

Because although room was sparse, the other clones from his company tended to make as wide a berth around him as they possibly could. Which meant that, although someone had to sit next to him during meals, that clone would generally sit as far away from his as possible; crowding his other neighbor if need be. And the Kaminoans didn't care one wit about it. As long as the unit was operating according to specifications and their results during training were acceptable, the long necks couldn't give two bits past Sundays whether or not the clones liked one another.

So Wrench had a bit of elbowroom during meals and although it never felt like enough, it was better than what he'd had before. And it went a ways to make this situation that little bit more bearable.

* * *

"Mind of I sit here?"

The question actually startled Wrench enough that he froze, fork halfway to his mouth. He looked up to see another trooper standing before him, on the opposite side of the long table. His fatigues – required wear for all mealtimes – were freshly pressed and his hair in its regulation cut was still slightly damp from the 'freshers.

_Fresh from a training exercise then, _Wrench thought. Then his eyes caught the insignia stitched to the shirt and he gave a weary sigh. The clone had the insignia of a command trainee.

Wrench dropped his still laden fork and got to his feet, coming to a parade rest, though he took his time in doing so.

"Sir, no sir," he said, and though his tone was as per regulation, both courteous and crisp, he kept his eyes fixed on a point above the clone's right shoulder, on the far wall. _Just what I need; a wannabe commander or captain to spy on me. _

To his surprise, the command clone chuckled.

"Please, at ease," he said, waving off the formalities with one hand, while the other balanced a tray. "Sit, before your nutrient cubes get cold."

Wrench cocked his head to the side, surprised once more. This was certainly new. He had yet to meet a command clone who was not so full of himself and his rank that he wasn't shitting brass on every trip to the 'freshers. And a sense of humor. Wrench had begun to think the Kaminoans had engineered that trait out of this bunch of bucket heads.

"Certainly, sir," he said, sitting down again, though still wary of a trap. He didn't recognize this clone, but then, he'd not actually had a chance to meet any trooper outside of his company. He hadn't been here long enough, nor was fraternization outside of your company's barracks encouraged. And there were so many of these regular types.

The command clone took the seat opposite Wrench, still smiling.

"There's no need for formalities," he said. Then he lowered his voice, leaning slightly towards Wrench to keep the words between them. "Not, at least, as long as there aren't any overseers about."

Wrench forced himself not to give into the impulse of furtively sweeping the mess hall with his eyes at those words. His immediate neighbor on the left though looked up in alarm and quickly scooted a couple of more inches away from Wrench and the command clone. No one in their right mind wanted to be privy to a conversation that could, in any way, get them in trouble with the Kaminoans. And they were everywhere, either striding along the floors or, even worse, up in those floating observation platforms, armed with electric prods. Wrench had only seen them being used once since he'd gotten here, but it had been enough. The sight had made the wound on his back hurt in remembered agony and Wrench had decided that being electrocuted once was more than enough for one lifetime. It was one of the reasons why Wrench preferred to sit at the farthest table in the mess, taking the seat in the corner. There was no way a Kaminoan overseer could somehow sneak up on him either from behind or to his right. And from this position, he could comfortably keep an eye on his surroundings; the entire mess hall and the entryways being in his field of vision.

He was pleased to note that the command clone did not twist around in his seat to check for unexpected observers either. The man wasn't a complete _di'kut _then.

_No, _he thought suddenly, his hand clenching painfully around his fork. _Not _di'kut. _Idiot or moron, or anything else. Not. _Di'kut. He didn't want to use the Mando'a anymore. As far as he was concerned Mandalorians were nothing more than hypocrites, preaching honor and brotherhood and belonging to men who belonged nowhere and whose only purpose was to kill, honor or no. What had being Mandalorian ever done for him, or Asher. In the end, it hadn't meant a thing. And besides, Mando'a was _his _language, it was _his _culture. Wrench wanted nothing from Fett, but to cut all ties with him. And that included turning his back on the man's culture and language. He could do nothing about his genes, but being Mandalorian was one inheritance he could refuse.

Wrench then became aware of a deepening silence and he looked up to see the command clone regarding him expectantly. Clearly, he was to give some kind of response.

"Right," he said, only half remembering the previous comment. "Sure."

The command clone regarded him for a moment, his eyes suddenly unnervingly shrewd. Then he gave an exaggerated shrug and extended his hand towards Wrench from across the table.

"I'm CC-9605, by the way. Thrush."

Wrench studied the hand for a moment, then reluctantly clasped it with his own. "CT-20-4371."

"Really?" And Thrush dragged the word out, cocking his head at Wrench with a small smile. "I find that hard to believe."

Wrench felt his scalp prickle in alarm and he quickly withdrew his hand. What was this? A trap set up by Fett? Why? For what purpose? To see if he would slip up again or fall back into his old habits? Well, if it was, he wouldn't be that easily caught out.

He took up his fork once more and began eating. Spearing a small, blue nutrient cube he regarded it nonchalantly for a moment, before popping it into his mouth. He took his time chewing, then swallowed before resuming to speak. Sometimes, silence was as good an intimidation as the sound of a blaster.

"And why is that?" he drawled.

Thrush didn't seem perturbed in the least by Wrench's attitude. "Because you don't move or behave like a clone without a name," he said. "Those who haven't chosen yet, they aren't quite yet comfortable with who they are. They're still trying to figure out what they're good at, what defines them. There's no hesitation in you, at least none that isn't deliberately placed there. So, you're sure of yourself. And that means you have an identity and a name."

Wrench mulled that over for a moment then regarded Thrush again, his eyes cool. "It's still CT-20-4371."

Thrush put up his hands in a warding off gesture. "Alright, copy that. Consider it logged and filed away. Anyway," and he waved the argument aside, " that's not why I came to talk to you."

So they were finally getting to the point. That was a relief.

Thrush leaned in close again, but this time, his voice was not lowered in secretiveness, but in admiration. "I watched you and your company during the _Malcom _Assault exercise. I watched how you took charge when the gravity failed. At that point, your company lost sixty-five percent less troopers than any other and you finished a good eight and a half minutes before everyone else's time."

"So?"

"So," Thrush continued. "I went back and checked all relevant records pertaining to the training results of Company D/Beta-7 and in the last eight months, said company has risen four ranks in the overall grading system. And that just happened to correspond with the arrival of a certain trooper, designation number CT-20-4371."

_Kriff it! _He thought furiously, though he kept his face blank. He knew that, in the first few weeks of his being reassigned to the regular troopers, his unusual skill set had been blatantly obvious and had garnered quite a bit of attention. But he had thought he'd adjusted accordingly, that he had toned it down enough to be taken as nothing more than a mildly talented clone trooper. Not knowing the conditions and rules of his 'exile', Wrench had worked hard in trying to imitate the other troopers movements and reaction times, testing just how far their knowledge went. If someone were to find out that he was really an Alpha ARC, he might be taken for reconditioning yet. And that was something he no longer wanted. But he should have known the _Malcom _Assault would come back to bite him in the ass.

Wrench bit back a sigh. The _Malcom _Assault exercise had been a simulation meant to prepare troopers for the possible boarding of their vessel by an enemy force. The point had been to repel the clankers and regain possession of the ship. Halfway through the fight, the gravity had cut out and Wrench had reacted far faster to the situation than the others of his company. Turned out ARCs learnt to deal with null grav a lot earlier than the regular troopers. So while Sitter, the clone in charge of their company, had still been trying to sort himself out, Wrench had instinctively taken charge of the situation; more out of a need to survive, then out of any desire to command. The result had been good for the company, though Sitter had been royally pissed off and it had, apparently, earned him this bit of unwelcome attention.

_Next time, _he vowed, _I'll just wave my arms and panic like good cannon fodder and take the crinking kill shot. _

"You still haven't told me what you want. Sir." And Wrench's tone was definitely acidic now.

Thrush pushed the food on his tray around thoughtfully. "Have you heard of Company N/Kappa-3?"

Wrench thought for a moment. "No."

"Well, there's a reason for that," Thrush said, and winced slightly. "They're about twelve ranks below your company. Don't get me wrong," he quickly added, "they're a good bunch. Always come out with perfect scores, or near perfect anyway. But they mostly finish an exercise with the worst time and that's mostly the captain trainee's fault."

"Your company?" Wrench asked, though he already knew the answer.

Thrush sighed. "Yeah, mine. Like I said, they're a good bunch of men and that is both the strength of Company N/Kappa-3 and its problem."

"You lost me."

Thrush looked up at him and his eyes were more intense than Wrench had ever seen them. "But I don't want that. I don't want to lose any man. Which is why I go at a problem slowly. I weigh the odds; consider all the outcomes. I'm cautious. Overcautious, I've been told. But I've seen a couple of exercises go very badly and I don't want that for my men."

"That's a pretty sentiment, but I still don't see how this has anything to do with me."

Thrush threw down his fork and steepled his fingers together on the table. "Okay, so here's the crux of the matter. Because of our poor rank, I've been warned a number of times. Either my company improves their performance, or we get dissolved and reassigned and a new Company N/Kappa-3 is formed. Now, this would make a lot of people unhappy, starting with me and ending with about every command clone trainee in Tipoca who has to reshuffle squad arrangements due to an influx of new clones. So I figure, what we need is someone with a new approach. Someone who has skills none of us seems to have. Who can help us improve our ranking."

Wrench leaned back slightly until he was resting comfortably against the wall, arms crossed. He raised a sardonic eyebrow at Thrush. "So basically, you want me as your company's show eopie."

Thrush gave a grin at that. "Basically, I guess I do." Then he turned somber. "But that's not the only reason. I told you that my main concern is not losing men. Well, you seem to be rather good at keeping people alive, even if you might not be aware of it. And you don't have a problem telling your CO when he's about to screw up."

"Some might call that insubordination," Wrench drawled, still leaning against the wall. He was certain he knew where this was going now, though he was still unclear about Thrush's reasoning.

Thrush met his eyes squarely and for a moment, it seemed as if the constant din of the mess hall disappeared. "I call it saving lives. And I want that. I want you to tell me when I'm screwing up, when I'm making a mistake that would endanger my men. My troopers won't. Either because they like me too much or because they're too aware of the chain of command, I don't know. But either way, they follow orders to perfection in the simulator and later pat me on the back and commiserate about our performance. That's nice, but it doesn't solve the problem. And I've _seen _the vids about real battle. Whatever we are facing here now, it won't be enough to prepare us for the real thing, I think. But maybe, with your help, we'll be a bit better prepared when the time comes."

Wrench closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the garish white walls and considered what Thrush had said. It rang true, for one. Thrush was obviously sincere about his sentiments, so it was unlikely this was a set-up of some kind. And he had to admit, the idea of being useful was appealing, though practically being given permission to harangue his CO was the more attractive stipulation. But there was still one problem.

"And how exactly do you see this all happening?" he asked, eyes still closed. "In case you've forgotten, I'm still assigned to Company D/Beta-7 and I don't exactly have the free time to tutor you." Not that he ever would. Not after what had happened to Asher.

But Thrush seemed to be prepared for this. Cracking open one eyelid, Wrench saw relief on the other clone's face. "That's solved easily enough. I'll just request your transfer."

Now that got his attention. Opening both eyes fully now, Wrench scrutinized the command clone more closely. "Just like that?" He asked. "You'll just go to the Kaminoans and tell them to transfer me, pretty as you please." He snorted. "You either got dropped on your head during decanting, or the Kaminoans spliced a few genes too many."

Thrush's grin returned to his lips. "Actually, it just so happens that I am a very likeable guy and one of the training sergeants has a soft spot for me. That, and he doesn't want people to know that he keeps a rather indecent stack of Dodbri whiskey in his quarters."

At that, Wrench had to laugh. "Got it all figured out, then," he said.

"Mostly," Thrush admitted. "Except for the part where you either accept my offer or tell me to do something rude with myself."

Wrench snorted another half-laugh, but, to his surprise, found himself seriously considering Thrush's offer. Really, what did he have to lose? It wasn't as if he had any close brothers in his company. In fact, he was pretty sure that Sitter would be more than happy to sign off on his transfer.

He took in Thrush's face, noted the earnestness of his expression, the quiet anxiety in his eyes. _He takes this karking seriously, _he realized.

Wrench leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table, the trays of food forgotten by both.

"Alright," he said. "If you can swing a transfer, I'll go along with it and I'll do my best to help you and your company improve your ranking." To his surprise, he found that he meant it.

Thrush grinned from ear to ear. "Great. That's just great. Give me a few days to set things in motion and by the end of month, you'll be part of Company N/Kappa-3." Then his expression turned more serious and he reached out to grasp Wrench's wrist, giving it a brief, friendly squeeze.

"You won't regret this CT-20-4371."

Wrench watched Thrush gather his tray, most of the food still uneaten. He'd go hungry the next hours until the last meal break, but he didn't seem to mind. Wrench looked down at his wrist, where it still lay against the table.

"Wrench," he said.

Thrush stopped in mid motion, leaning closer to the still seated Wrench to hear him above the noise of the mess. "Sorry. Didn't catch that."

Wrench grit his teeth, but repeated his name again. "You can call me Wrench." It didn't quite feel right anymore, but it was still the only identity he had left. CT-20-4371 was, after all, nothing but an empty construct.

Thrush's lips quirked up into another smile. "Wrench it is then," he said and gave a slight incline of his head. "I'd like to meet up again at some point, talk a bit more, if that's alright. I have a bunch of questions I'd like to ask you."

Wrench nodded absently. "Sure. You know where to find me." And that was the truth. As a command clone, Thrush would be able to request the schedule of any trooper.

With another smile, Thrush made his way out of the mess. Wrench watched him go, idly pushing around the left over nutrient cubes on his tray. The mess hall was still too noisy, still too crowded. But somehow, he found it didn't annoy him quite as much anymore as it had before. He had a few things to think about now, things that were more pressing than a general physical discomfort. He felt…better somehow.


	26. Chapter 26: 23 BBY

**Author's Note: **Fair warning: this is a long one and not for the faint of heart. Please don't shoot me for this.

* * *

**Burdens of Command**

"_This is the price of commanding – _

_That mistakes are signed in red – _

_And that you won't pay_

_But others may,_

_And your best may wind up dead._

_This is the price of commanding." _

"_Price of Command" by Mercedes Lackey _

* * *

Kamino, Tipoca City, 23 BBY

The Kaminoans called the exercise 'Rushing the guns'. Wrench called it mental preparation for a life of being cannon fodder. It was by far one of the most hair brained simulations the Kaminoans had ever come up with and that included shooting at targets while dangling upside down from a suspension cord in nothing but your decanting suit.

"Group A, left flank, position grid 5.2. Group C, cover fire for Group D. Group B, reinforce our position at Coruscant-Kilo-5-3-Sierra. Take! Take! Take!"

Wrench listened as Thrush barked out his orders over the company's comm. channel, sticking to his side and covering his six as the command clone surged from cover to cover. The designated groups split off of the main force, the clones dodging individual blaster shots as the three AV-7 Antivehicle Cannons roared overhead.

Wrench suddenly grabbed Thrush in mid sprint by the rim of his back plate and practically threw him behind the cover of a burned out gunship. He barely had time to follow, before the ground where they had previously been standing erupted into a geyser of dirt, rocks and bits of metal that littered the simulated battlefield, compliments of a heavy cannon round.

Thrush stared for a moment at the new crater, before turning the orange visor of his helmet towards Wrench. "Thanks."

Wrench cuffed the other clone on the back of the head. "Don't just look at your HUD. Actually use your eyes from time to time."

Thrush, of course, wasn't listening any longer; his eyes had already gone back to the multiple readouts on his HUD, anxiously checking the progress of the rest of the company. Wrench suppressed the urge to hit him again, this time with a real fist and reminded himself that Thrush wasn't actually that bad of a leader. It was just that he tended to care so much about his men, he forgot about the mission and the battle going on around him.

It was something Wrench had learned very early on once he had official been transferred to Company N/Kappa-3. Thrush hadn't been kidding that day in the mess hall; he really was anxious to keep his company in tact. And so far, he had been successful. Company N/Kappa-3 had never experienced a KIA during training, and the men seemed to greatly appreciate the command trainee's concern. But Thrush's care came at a price. He spent almost all of the little free time he had studying the holos of other companies, memorizing the orders their command clones gave, noting their mistakes and taking pains not to repeat them. He tended to think over every single possible outcome his orders could have, he thought and double thought over everything, questioning each order even as he gave it. It meant precious time wasted during the exercises, while Thrush decided on the least risky action to take. Quite frankly, Wrench was amazed that the Kaminoans hadn't picked up on Thrush's fixation yet. But then, as a regular trooper, Thrush had had nine years of learning to hide any behavior that might be deemed aberrant from the long necks.

Wrench ducked his head instinctively as another roar erupted from the cannons, followed by another explosion and a shower of dirt. The hands around his DC-15A blaster rifle tightened. The near deafening sound of the cannons, the calls of orders over his helmet's comm., the stink of burned ozone and earth, melted metal and fumes. They all coalesced inside him, made his body practically thrum with energy. Charging the cannons was an utterly ridiculous thing to do. But more than anything, he wanted to do it. To just spring to his feet and charge forward, shooting anything that came in his way.

But he was stuck with Thrush and Thrush wasn't about to move from their cover position until he had made sure that all members of his company were at a spot that was both easily defendable and providing enough protection from the cannons and the oncoming droids. To relieve some of his craving, Wrench steadied his blaster rifle on the relatively flat surface of a sheared off wing and began to take down some of the droids advancing on their position. The DC-15A felt good in his hands, the weight a comfort. And seeing the droids go down with a single shot was almost as gratifying as the feeling he got right after a good round of sex. It left the body pleasantly tingling.

"Group F! Droidekas, three o'clock. Maneuver Sigma-12. Repeat. Sigma-12."

Wrench took a break from his shooting to slap Thrush on the padded armor of his shoulder. Getting his attention, Wrench quickly made a few hand signs. Thrush nodded, then relayed the instructions to Group F.

"Use variation 5. Repeat. Group F. Sigma-12. Variation 5. Take! Take! Take!"

Satisfied, Wrench took up his rifle once more. In the past five weeks, he and Thrush had worked on developing a set of hand signals by which to communicate with each other, without the Kaminoans finding out about it. If it came out that Thrush was receiving instructions on battle tactics and strategy from another clone – a subordinate one at that – then they both would be in deep poodoo. What they were doing was breaking regs Wrench hadn't even known existed before Thrush had pointed them out to him.

And yet, it was working. Since he had joined Company N/Kappa-3, they had risen three ranks in the overall scoring system. Wrench knew they could have gotten more, but even though it had been his idea, Thrush simply wasn't willing to consider, or even listen to, some of Wrench's more daring strategies. Wrench's argument, that on a battlefield, taking risks was inevitable, fell on deaf ears. It was one of the main points of contention between the two clones, but for once, Wrench kept himself from pushing the point. Thrush was a decent guy and so were most of the men from Company N/Kappa-3. Most may not have liked him and he rarely traded words with any of them, aside from Thrush, but he didn't have the feeling of needing to sleep with one eye open when in their barracks. And they did recognize his skills. It was enough.

Wrench unclipped an explosive charge from his belt and, risking being shot, stood up and threw the charge at one of the droidekas coming towards them. The charge bounced harmlessly off of the droid's shields. Wrench ducked back behind his cover, then sighted the droid through the scope of his rifle, waiting for it to make its ponderous way forward. Droidekas were pretty fast once they curled up and used their circular shape to roll forwards; hence the nickname rollies. But with their shields up, they could only move slowly and awkwardly, by wriggling their tripod along the ground through finely calculated rocking movements. Wrench waited until the explosive charge was almost within the range of the rollies's deflector shield, then detonated the charge with a well-aimed shot from the rifle. The charge exploded with a satisfying boom, overwhelming the droideka's shield and blasting it to bits.

Thrush's voice sounded in his helmet again, overriding all other comm. signals.

"Wrench, Group K needs reinforcement. Join up and take over."

Wrench frowned at this. That wasn't the plan. The plan was he was to stay with Thrush at all times.

"Please repeat." He called through the channel, still firing at the droids.

"Group K, trooper." Thrush said again and Wrench heard a distinct note of annoyance as Thrush threw all the brass of his rank behind the words. "Join up and take over. That's an order."

Wrench lowered his rifle, staring at Thrush through the orange faceplate. Thrush stared right back, a mulish expression on his face.

"Sir, yes, sir." Wrench bit back the words he really wanted to shout at the command clone and dashed away from the cover of the twisted gunship remains. Group K was entrenched in a ditch about a klick behind Wrench's original position and to the east of the battlefield. They had gotten themselves hemmed in by a large boulder protruding from the ground at their backs and an approaching group of battle droids. They were keeping the droids at bay for now, but couldn't move to a more defendable position.

Wrench charged into the fray, having to rely on the HUD's wraparound vision to tell him about the shots coming from behind, while keeping an eye on the threat in front. While he ran, he took out the last three of his explosive charges, keeping them ready in one hand, while somehow managing to keep the blaster aimed level more or less with the other. The Deece's weight dragged on his arm, but he kept going.

The droids never knew what hit them. One of them was just in the act of turning its ridiculously long face in his direction when he threw himself into a long skid on his back, sliding through the forest of spindly droid legs and dropping the charges in his wake. The droids were so confused by his actions, they never even got to firing a shot until he was already well within the safety of the ditch.

"Thanks for joining the party," said Nil cheerfully. "Did you bring us anything to eat?"

"No," Wrench said and rolled onto his stomach, rifle in position. "But the effing clankers are about to eat dirt." He fired again and the charges exploded just like they had with the droideka. Group F and he were showered with dirt and small bits of droid shrapnel as the explosive charges sent them back to meet their maker.

Scaler poked his head out over the ditch's rim, his head swiveling this way and that like a nervous burrow. "Why didn't we think of that?" he wondered, taking in the scene of destruction.

Wrench checked the charge on his rifle and swapped powerpacks. "Because you couldn't find the outside of the box if it were labeled 'exit' in blinking neon."

None of the group responded. By now, they had learned to take most of his abuse.

There was a sudden lull in the cacophony of cannons and blasters and Wrench cocked his head in curiosity, wondering what the droids were up to now. Or, to be more precise, what the trainers controlling the droids were up to now. Silence on the battlefield tended to mean one of two things: either endex or the poodoo was about to hit the fans.

"All groups. All groups. The enemy is down. Repeat. Enemy defenses down. All groups. Charge the cannons!"

Before Wrench could say anything, Group F had already stormed out of the ditch and were charging through the hilly terrain and towards the suddenly quiet cannons. Watching their quickly retreating backs, Wrench cut his external mic for a moment and cursed loud and viciously. He was going to kill Thrush. The _dwarfnut_ was so intent on playing it safe he couldn't see he was being lured into a trap.

Wrench charged after Group F, digging his grey painted boots into the dirt for more traction. They weren't more than halfway across the battlefield when the cannons came back to life with a murderous roar. There was a shouted warning from someone and then the exposed troopers of Company N/Kappa-3 was forced to scramble for cover.

Wrench ducked down behind the measly cover of a sheared off section of tank, swearing to all the deities he could think of that once this was over, he was going to strangle Thrush. "Charge the cannons," he muttered, low enough that his voice was drowned out by the general rush of orders and shouted status updates. "For five weeks I've been telling him, charging the cannons is for half-wits. But does he listen?" He directed the question towards the confusion of the battlefield around him, while beginning to fire at the droids once more marching relentlessly towards them.

"Karking _echuta stoopa koochoo…" _He cut off his tirade as his ears detected another sound through the chaos surrounding him. A sound that didn't belong on the battlefield.

Wrench dropped behind his cover, crouching with one shoulder pressed against the tank piece and listened. There it was again; a high-pitched whine that preceded the booming discharge of one of the cannons. Wrench frowned. Cannon discharge wasn't supposed to sound like that. No, there was the sharp _clink-plink _of the plasma shells being inserted into the lower chassis, the whirring of the servomotors as the cannon was brought into position and then the heavy, thundering boom of discharge. There was no whine like the one he was hearing now, except when…

Wrench's eyes shot open and in an instant he had activated the emergency overrides in his helmet, broadcasting on all open comm. channels.

"Fall back! Fall back! The cannons…"

It was as far as he got before the air was ripped apart by an explosion of devastating magnitude and he was thrown back; tossed about in the shock wave like a leaf in a tempest.

* * *

The Kaminoans deemed it a training accident due to equipment fatigue. Wrench deemed it death through careless oversight. The AV-7's had been in usage since the first batch of clones were old enough to handle live-fire exercises. As a result, the cannons had constantly been overheated, without the proper maintenance. The result had been a minutiae warping of the durasteel barrels, which had resulted in a misfire from the middle cannon, during Company N/Kappa-3's exercise. The plasma charge had ripped the cannon apart, before the droid operated had realized its peril and the discharge had ignited the tibanna shells of the other two cannons. They too, had exploded as a result.

And had killed nearly half of Company N/Kappa-3.

Wrench watched as Nil was carried off on a repulsorlift stretcher, a med droid carefully keeping his injured leg from being jostled. His tibia had been cracked practically in half by the force of the explosion and most of it was protruding through the bodysuit and skin. Wrench turned away from the sight of that glistening white bone sticking up through the torn flesh and tried to take in the rest of the hastily assembled triage area. The holographic emitters had been damaged in the explosion and the training room was once more a large open space of grey durasteel plating. The Kaminoans had rushed to gather as many medical personnel as they could, treating most of the injured clones right then and there on the former battlefield. The most critically injured had already been dealt with; either stabilized for transport to the medical bays or dead.

They were still working on Morn, another clone from Group F. Wrench couldn't see exactly what the Kaminoan was doing, but it seemed to involve a lot of pressure pads and gauze. There was already a litter of bloodstained padding and bandages surrounding Morn.

There was no one working on Scaler. Scaler was still buried beneath the twisted wreckage of the downed gunship that had previously sheltered Wrench and Thrush. Given flight one last time by the force of the shock wave, it had impacted with Scaler head on.

Wrench's own injuries were relatively mild. The piece of tank had shielded him from the worst of the explosion, though the shock wave had slammed him straight into one of the boulders and had dislocated his right shoulder as a result. The shoulder had been set twenty minutes ago and he had been given a stim to help him through the worst of the pain until there was room for him in the medbay. The inside of his right thigh had been badly sliced up as well, though Wrench had determined that none of the major arteries had been damaged and a medic had confirmed it. The wound was now stitched and bandaged and like his shoulder, awaited further treatment. _Another scar to add to the collection. _He was getting tired of that.

His searching sweep caught on a lone figure standing close to the sight of the explosion and Wrench gave a heavy sigh. He made his limping way over to Thrush, wincing as his bruised ribs and sore shoulder ached, even through the effects of the stim.

Thrush was standing limply amidst the wreckage of the cannons. He wasn't wearing his helmet and Wrench didn't see it anywhere nearby. Lost in the explosion, probably. The clogged blood on the left side of Thrush's face argued for it.

Wrench called to him, speaking Thrush's name, but the command clone gave no reaction. With another wince, Wrench made his halting way through the twisted remains of durasteel until he was standing next to Thrush.

"Thrush," he said again. Still no reaction. Hearing loss maybe? A possibility if he had lost his helmet before the baffles had had a chance to kick in.

Thrush's gaze remained fixed on a pile of mostly melted durasteel. Wrench noticed with some unease that the clone's brown eyes were strangely blank, as if he weren't seeing the remains of the cannon at all, but focusing on some message on his absent HUD.

Wrench reached out with his good arm, grabbing Thrush by one charred spaulder and turned him forcibly towards him.

"Thrush, I'm talking to you," he said shaking the other clone for emphasis.

Thrush raised his eyes to his. "Hmm?" The inquisitive noise was followed by a puzzled expression. "Wrench?"

Wrench cursed inwardly and quickly ushered Thrush to a crate that had, somehow, managed to survive this close to the blast more or less intact. Thrush followed his wordless direction with a pliancy that almost scared Wrench as much as his vague response. Even a normal trooper should have more fight in him than this. Was Thrush concussed perhaps? He had been awfully close to the explosion, much closer than Wrench and Group F had been.

Once he had him seated, Wrench went over Thrush's visible wounds, starting with the blood on his face. It wasn't an easy task; Wrench was no medic and he had one arm in a sling, but Thrush put up no resistance to his well-meaning but rather curt inspection. The blood, Wrench was reassured to find out, had come from a cut close to Thrush's hairline. It was ugly and jagged, but neither very long nor very deep. He found no other signs of head trauma.

"Are you hurt anywhere else, Thrush?" he asked the other clone.

Thrush just stared at him blankly. Patience had never been Wrench's strong suit and although he tried to restrain himself, he couldn't keep from snapping his fingers almost directly under Thrush's nose to get his attention.

"Thrush. I said. Are. You. Hurt. Anywhere. Else?" And he enunciated the words slowly and carefully, as if he were speaking to a brain deficient bad batcher.

Thrush blinked at him and finally seemed to recognize where he was and who was talking to him. "Wrench, I...I'm not sure. I…" he trailed off again, looking about him as if in a daze. "My arm kind of hurts."

Wrench expected first the left, then the right arm. On the right, he found the rerebrace of the training armor had been cracked. There was something sticking out of it and a small trail of blood was flowing down the arm. Wrench scanned the large hall, but all the medics seemed to still be engaged with other wounded. He would have to do this himself.

Cursing, he managed to extract what was left of both of their medkits, clumsily taking out what supplies were still usable, then setting to removing the vambrace and the spaulder from that arm. He didn't need those pieces of armor getting in his way. He took out a set of medium sized tongs from the medkit, examined it for a moment, then went about the task of clearing away the pieces of shrapnel that had lodged themselves into the rerebrace and flesh. He was so concentrated on the task, it took Wrench a moment to realize that Thrush was talking.

"…ver saw it coming. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I had calculated all the odds, everything was in our favor. We should have won this, no problem. How many dead?"

The question threw Wrench for a loop for a moment and he dropped a bloody piece of shrapnel on the ground before answering. "Last I heard, sixty-five confirmed dead; either killed by the explosion or their wounds."

Thrush closed his eyes. "Sixty-five?" he whispered. Wrench felt himself swallow. It was a catastrophic loss, the worst in the history of Kamino, as far as he knew. And it wasn't over yet. He hated to do this to Thrush, but he was the command clone trainee in charge of the company. He had to be informed.

"So far. The Kaminoans are still working on a good two-dozen critical cases. No way of telling whether or not they will pull through. And then there's the question of what to do with those that lost limbs. I'm not sure how willing the Kaminoans are to put up with them. They might be recond…"

"Stop!" Thrush's outburst, the first real sign of emotion he had displayed so far, silenced Wrench immediately. "Just…just stop. Please," he added in a faint whisper.

Wrench put down the tongs, stopping what he was doing to regard both his handiwork and Thrush. The command clone was sitting bent over on the crate, arms braced on his legs and hands dangling listlessly between his knees. His head was bowed and his eyes shut tight, as if not seeing the wreckage before him would somehow make it less real.

"Thrush," Wrench said, trying to be as gentle as he could, though he had no real practice in it. "You have to know. This is your duty, what you've been trained for. The others are going to look to you to explain to them what happened. What happened to the rest of their brothers."

When Thrush lifted his head, Wrench hoped to see some kind of determination or resolve on his friend's face. Instead, there was only bleakness. "I messed up, didn't I? I should never have given the order to rush the guns."

Wrench said nothing, merely going back to cleaning Thrush's wound. There was nothing he could say to that.

"This is what it's going to be like in real battle, isn't it?" Thrush asked and Wrench focused on a particularly big piece of shrapnel that had lodged itself deep into the muscle of the arm. "I give the orders and others die. That's what command boils down to. I won't ever be able to keep a unit in tact. Not for long anyway, because sooner or later, I'll make a mistake or the odds will just be against us."

The piece of shrapnel came free and Wrench stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out what it was. It wasn't the dull grey of durasteel or the tan color of the training droids. It was white, dotted with blood, vaguely shaped like a triangle and rather thick.

Thrush was staring at it as well. "Tak," he said, so quietly Wrench almost didn't hear him. And then the name registered and Wrench remembered that Tak and his group had been running with Thrush in the initial charge and that Tak had died after a long piece of shrapnel had buried itself in his skull. And that was what he was holding. A piece of Tak's skull; blown free by the impacting force of the shrapnel that had killed Tak and carried all the way through Thrush's armor to bury itself in the muscle of his arm.

Wrench dropped the tongs and the piece of skull like they were a bomb about to go off. The tongs made a metallic rattling sound as they impacted with the floor, which seemed to echo for a very long time in the sudden silence that enveloped the two clones. Thrush's eyes stayed fixed on them, but Wrench turned away and finished caring for Thrush's arm.

"Go to the medbay," he told Thrush, once he had a makeshift bandage over the wound. Thrush nodded absentmindedly. "I mean it, Thrush. Go there straight away."

"Sure, sure," Thrush said and made to stand. Wrench watched him for a moment as he cast a last glance at the fallen tongs and piece of skull on the floor. Then Thrush made his way out of the wreckage and towards one of the exits of the training room. And straight towards the direction of the barracks. Wrench sighed as he saw this and made to follow Thrush. He had a feeling he shouldn't leave Thrush alone right now, but his leg was really starting to hurt and all he could manage was a dragging limp of a gait.

* * *

When he finally came to the barracks that housed Company N/Kappa-3, Wrench found much to his surprise that the doors were locked. He keyed in his id code, but the access light on the panel flashed red. Frowning and muttering, he removed the panel's covering and quickly rerouted some wires. Even one-handed, it wasn't too difficult, just annoying. It seemed everything was determined to malfunction today.

Entering the barracks, he found Thrush sitting on one of the far benches between the storage lockers, back towards the door and hunched over slightly. Wrench's frown deepened. What was that idiot doing here? Wrench suppressed a sigh, already knowing that he was going to be dragging Thrush bodily to the medbay and that was going to be a pain with his leg, shoulder and ribs hurting like all hell.

Limping over to Thrush, Wrench craned his neck to get a better look at the clone. He hadn't liked that vague expression of Thrush's and was still worried about some kind of internal injury that might be addling his brains. You never could tell what nasty surprise the body might be cooking up.

The bright overhead lights gleamed off of something dark and shiny in Thrush's lap. Wrench couldn't get a good look at it from this angle. Then Thrush shifted ever so slightly on the bench and Wrench caught sight of the distinctive shape of a Deece barrel.

"Thrush!" he called and hastened into a sprint, ignoring his protesting body. But he was already too late.

Thrush, his finger already beginning to depress the trigger, turned his head around, startled at the sound of his name. The shift of position was enough to apply the last increments of pressure needed to set the Deece off and even as Wrench reached out his hand towards Thrush's shoulder, the blue bolt of plasma erupted from the blaster's muzzle.

It would have been a clean kill shot, if Thrush hadn't been in the act of swiveling his head. Wrench was aware of heat scoring his hand, before the smell of burnt flesh hit his nostrils. Thrush's body collapsed backwards, Wrench moving to catch him, nearly screaming as the weight of another clone's body impacted with his wounded shoulder, putting pressure on his recently stitched leg wound. He tried to lay Thrush out on the ground, fumbling to find a pulse, even as he tried to activate his comlink. One half of Thrush's face was nothing more than blackened skin and scorched bone, the eye on that side completely gone. And yet…a faint pulse.

Wrench managed to slam his helmet over his head, activating the emergency medical comm. channel, even as he told Thrush to stay with him, to not even kriffing think about dying.

"Medical emergency! I need a medic in barracks 81.4/G. Medical assistance required ASAP!"

Then he tore the helmet off again, throwing it to the side as he bent low over Thrush, checking for a pulse again.

There was a rasping wheeze as Thrush tried to take a breath through a mouth that was mostly a burned-out ruin. His remaining eye fluttered open and tried to focus on Wrench.

"W-Wre…"

"Would you fardling well, shut the kriff up. Medical is on its way."

But Thrush didn't seem to hear him. One hand pawed blindly at his own, until Wrench took it, surprised by the urgent strength of those fingers. "Wre…Wren…" Thrush's one eye remained fixed on his brother's face, asking him to understand.

* * *

The Kaminoans listed Thrush as one of the dead as a result of the explosion earlier in the day. He agreed. Thrush had been dead even as he had walked away from that training field, long before he had pulled that trigger.

Counting Thrush, the training accident had claimed seventy-one lives. Company N/Kappa-3 was official disbanded, the few survivors reassigned to other companies. As the only witness to CC-9605's suicide, the Kaminoans ordered that CT-20-4371 was to be transferred to a company's barracks as far away from the other former members of Company N/Kappa-3 as possible. To speak of CC-9605's aberrant behavior was, naturally, prohibited. It would only negatively impact the psychological development of the other units.

* * *

"So, who are you?"

The question caused him to pause for a moment in the act of storing his gear in his new locker. Who was he? He found that he actually had to think about that, searching his mind for some appropriate identifying marker.

He hadn't been Alpha-20 since he was two-years-old and a brother had given him a new name. Besides, Alpha-20 was listed as terminated in the Kaminoan records. His other designation, CT-20-4371, wasn't right either. That had always been nothing more than a fiction and one crafted by Fett at that. And he would never willingly accept anything given to him by Fett. He had identified himself to Thrush as 'Wrench', had fought for that name in his life as an ARC. But the truth was, 'Wrench' hadn't felt right for a very long time now. He had never really liked it as a name to begin with, had kept it mostly as a tribute to Asher. But 'Wrench' was connected with some of the worst memories of his life; 'Wrench' had committed an act of murder that still haunted his dreams. 'Wrench' had held the gaze of a brother who could no longer live with what he was. So? Who was he now?

He stared blankly at the insides of his locker, at the neatly stacked armor and at the shining barrel of his blaster rifle. He thought of Thrush then, of his last moments of life, trying to speak his name even as his breath was failing him.

"_Wre…Wren…" _A dying man's last breath. The last words of a friend; a final act of acknowledgement.

He closed the locker's door and faced the command clone in charge of his new company.

"Wren," he told him. "I'm Wren."

* * *

**Translation: **_dwarfnut _= fool (Pak Pak, native language of Neimoidians)

Huttesse this time. _Karking _= derogatory modifier,_ echuta _= a very insulting expletive used as a curse word, _stoopa _= stupid,_ koochoo _= idiot


	27. Chapter 27: 23 BBY

**Teachers and Students**

"_She has future plans and dreams at night._

_When they tell her life is hard, she says that's alright._

_She's a wild one, with an angel's face._

_She's a woman-child in a state of grace."_

"_Wild One" by Faith Hill_

* * *

Ansion, Dashbalar city, 23 BBY

When Master Altis had told Ro that he wanted her to meet an old friend of his, Ro had felt pretty much prepared for anything. After all, Master Altis seemed to know the most unusual and colorful of people. Still, Shiv Sanarl was someone even Ro's wild imagination could not have conjured up.

He was an aged Shistavanen and a former officer of the Republic navy and Intelligence branch. According to Master Altis, Shiv and his former squad, the Highlanders, were legends in the Republic military. But after more than forty years of service, Shiv had chosen to retire from active duty and had settled on the remote planet of Ansion in the Mid Rim with his wife, spending his free time tinkering and lazing about. But during his glory days, he had been _the _expert on covert operations and enemy infiltration and Altis hoped that his old friend would be amiable to teaching Ro what he knew.

So Ro was sitting with her Master in the comfortably furnished living room of a man who, by all accounts, possessed one of the most impressive collection of medals and who was one of only twelve beings ever to have been awarded the Cross of Glory twice. And he looked like a space pirate.

Leaning back comfortably in a very plush, overstuffed, high-backed armchair, Shiv peered down his long, scarred muzzle at her. His dark brown fur had mostly gone white around his snout, denoting his age and Ro could see more white patches here and there, peeking past his comfortably loose pants and shirt. But she wasn't sure if those were the Shistavanen equivalent of age spots, or more scars. His pointed ears, set high on top of his head, were pricked forward as he listened to Master Altis explain their reason for coming and Ro saw that his left ear was mostly in tatters. Besides the loose clothing, which was in a shade of slightly lighter brown than his fur, Shiv wore a dark blue bandana, which he had cocked so it covered his empty left eye socket. Ro wondered if he had lost the eye to the same thing that had shredded his left ear so badly.

When Master Altis was done explaining, Shiv crinkled his wet nose a little, his rubbery black lips pulling back slightly to expose very white and very pointy fangs.

"So," he grumbled, in a voice that was a very deep bass, "a Jedi Investigator, eh? Not many of those around." He turned his one good eye on her and Ro could see a luminescent light reflected in the black depths of the iris. Ro wasn't sure if that was part of the Shistavanen biology or simply a reflection of the light cast by the fire crackling in the hearth. Winters on Ansion could be very cold and the fire had already been blazing when Shiv had ushered the two Jedi into his home, set above the small shop he ran with his wife.

"You're a bit small, to be wanting to go toe to toe with all the big and bad out there," he said, grumbling a little, deep in his chest. Then his eye traveled down her slight frame, taking in her clothes and this time he laughed outright; a hearty, barking sort of sound. "And none of them goons will ever believe you're a Jedi, even with those glowsticks." And he gestured at the twin lightsabers dangling from her belt. "Honestly Djinn," he chuckled in amusement, "I don't know where you get them from."

Ro looked down at herself, trying to critically examine her outfit. She was wearing sturdy boots and warm, black leggings beneath a red, white and black-checkered skirt that stopped just above her knees. A purple sweater with silver embroidery at the arms and hem kept her very nicely warm and she had braided her platinum blond hair into two neat pigtails, which trailed over her shoulders. An image of her older brother suddenly came to her, looking very impressive and formal in his traditional, undyed bantha wool robes. Ro found her lips starting to twitch, then she started to giggle. Shiv was right; the idea of her arresting someone in an outfit like this was funny.

Shiv seemed to approve of her reaction, for his jaw dropped slightly in a Shistavanen smile. "I like her, Djinn," he said. "She's got humor." Then he turned his attention back to Ro. "But you need more than that if you're going to go chase after the really bad ones. And you're not very impressive to look at, little bit."

Ro grinned back at him, exposing all of her own white teeth. "Can't all of us be big, hulking fur balls," she told Shiv. "Some of us gotta rely on personality instead of looks, fluffy."

For a moment, there was absolute silence in the living room, with both Master Altis and Shiv staring at her, mouths agape. Ro could practically hear the gears turning in Shiv's mind as he tried to remember the last time someone had spoken to him that way. Then the old Shistavanen broke out into roaring laughter interspersed with howls. He slapped one clawed hand against his knee, before pointing the claw of his index finger at her.

"Tha-that one," he managed to gasp out in-between bouts of laughter, "got sass. Real old-fashioned sass. Eda's gonna love her. Oh, oh," and he clasped his sides with both of his huge paws, "fluffy!" And he dissolved into more fits of laughter. Ro, able to feel his merriment and infected by it, began to laugh as well. Her own very infectious laugh, coupled with her empathic powers, in turn set off Master Altis and soon all three were lost in a helpless paroxysm of laughter, writhing on their respective seats.

There was the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs leading from the shop to the apartment, then a sharp voice asked, "What's this? What's going on? Sounds like lunatics set loose."

Shiv waved hurriedly at Ro and Altis to quiet down, before turning in his armchair to face the approaching figure of his wife. Eda Ikuzu was a tall Human woman, who had been stunning in her youth and whose looks had aged to become regal. Although all of her hair had gone white, the skin of her finely sculpted face was still mostly smooth and those wrinkles that she did have looked more distinguished than anything else. Her sharp, almond-shaped, hazel eyes took in the three of them; Shiv in his armchair and Ro and Altis on a long and equally comfortable sofa.

"Eda, my darling," Shiv said, his tone taking on a low, growling sort of quality. "Come here, I want you to meet Djinn's newest student."

Eda narrowed her eyes at her husband, the nostrils on her fine nose flaring as if she scented a trap, but she walked towards Shiv, perching primly on the armrest of his chair. Shiv looked up at her fondly, then gestured towards Ro.

"This is Roweena Arhen," he told Eda. "A new Padawan of Djinn's."

Eda and Ro studied each other carefully for a moment. Ro wasn't sure what the other woman thought of her; Eda's expression, as well as her emotions was difficult to read, but Ro liked what she saw. Like her husband, Eda was not what Ro would have expected. In contrast to Shiv, she was very elegantly clothed. Her dress was of a very pale blue silk that went almost to her toes and which was decorated with small, white flowers that looked almost like snowflakes. The dress had a long neck and closed at the side with a series of small buttons. Eda had piled her long hair into an intricate knot at the back of her head, its weight tilting her head at a proud angle. Ro wondered if she could do that with her hair.

"So," Eda said, the first to break the silence. "Another new Padawan. So many students now. Where do you find the time, Djinn?" Her voice was a pleasant alto, which did not hide the sharp quality of the interrogatory tone behind her short sentences.

Master Altis, apparently used to such brusque treatment, merely shrugged. "Oh, the time usually finds itself. Besides," and he waggled a finger at her. "You know that I'm not the only teacher in my little following. My students teach each other and me, as much as I teach them."

"Then why bring her here?" Eda asked, pouncing on the statement like a branch leopard pounced on prey.

"Because," Master Altis said, his tone a bit more cautious now, "Ro wants to learn more about being an investigator. She wants to hunt criminals and you two are the best hunters that I know. I thought I would give asking you to tutor her a shot."

"A student," Eda said, her eyes narrowed now to fine slits. "You bring us a student. We're retired, Altis. No more students."

"Now, Eda," Shiv began, raising one clawed hand to her arm.

"No," she said, her voice emphatic. "You said no to the other one. We're retired. No more hunting. No more students. That's what you said."

"I said that, because the job would have taken us away from Ansion and neither one of us was interested in such a long-term assignment. Besides, you never did like bounty hunters or Mandalorians."

"Never liked Jedi either," she replied sharply. "Too full of themselves. Too dependent on their Force."

"I'm not," Ro interrupted. Both Eda and Shiv turned to look at her, their expressions clearly stating that they had forgotten Ro's and Altis's presence. "I mean," she said, trying to clarify her hasty statement. She knew she was babbling from nervousness, but found herself unable to stop. "I do use the Force, but I can't depend on it like other Jedi. I'm not a very strong Force-sensitive. That's why I want to learn from you," she added quickly. "You can teach me how to hunt down criminals without relying on the Force."

Eda's sharp eyes studied her, before she gave a prim little sniff of her nose. "More to hunting than the hunt," she said. "Need more than blasters and a pair of binders."

"I'm enrolled in the University of Aldera," Ro defended herself. "I'm studying for a degree in forensics." Ro looked at Eda entreatingly, knowing that the decision ultimately rested with her. She really wanted the older woman to like her; Eda Ikuzu just felt like such an impressive person, as finely made and sharp like as a songsteel sword, as beautiful as she was deadly. She was someone Ro thought she would very much like to admire.

"University?" Eda asked slowly, enunciating the word with extreme care. "Forensics?" She looked Ro up and down a second time, one finely arched eyebrow raised skeptically. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen?" she asked, then scoffed. "That's too young for university. Too young for a degree."

"Ro is very intelligent," Master Altis put in, his voice soft but sober. "She aced all the entrance exams and was given special permission to attend her courses via holo. She's a fine student," he added with a soft smile in Ro's direction, "and always eager to learn more."

"Padawan, you said?" she asked, seeming to change tactics. "That means she still needs training in the Force. How are we to teach her that?" she demanded.

"I thought," Master Altis said placatingly, "that we could work something out. Times are getting to be troubled and that means my people and I are more on the move than usual. It would be no problem for me to drop by on Ansion on a regular basis to teach Ro."

"Drop by?" the older woman asked, clearly horrified. "You want her to live here? We're not a boardinghouse!"

"Eda," Shiv put in now. "Why don't we discuss this for a moment in private?"

Eda opened her mouth as if to negate the suggestion, but closed it again at the look on Shiv's face. She rose from the armrest in a single, fluid motion that was so graceful and elegant, Ro thought for a moment that she must have been a Jedi to achieve such a physical harmony. Shiv shot the two Jedi a bemused and slightly helpless look, shrugging his wide shoulders, before rising to follow his wife. As he did so, the servomotors of the prosthetic that replaced his right leg whined softly. Ro could see a flash of the silvery durasteel beneath the wide hem of his pant leg and wondered not for the first time why Shiv had decided to leave the mechanism bare, instead of coating it with synthflesh. But then, Master Altis had said that Shiv was extremely fond of machinery, so maybe the sight of the bare prosthetic did not bother the old soldier as much as it did some.

Ro watched as Shiv led Eda to a corner at the far side of the spacious living room, one hand at the small of her back. The gesture looked like an old, ingrained habit, as natural to the wolfman as breathing. The two began to talk in earnest, heated whispers and although neither Ro nor Master Altis could hear the words, both Jedi could certainly _feel _the context of the argument. Master Altis began twiddling his thumbs, looking idly at the collection of weapons that hung from the walls, trying to give the impression of utter indifference. But Ro was too fascinated to be polite enough to look away. Eda and Shiv were just so _enrapturing _in the Force.

Although they appeared to be arguing – and arguing vehemently – any and all discordant emotions were shallow, flittering above the surface like Shadorian dragonflies above a pond. They meant nothing; it was what was beneath the surface that pulled at Ro's curiosity. To Ro, it was often easiest to describe what she felt and how people felt to her, in terms of sensations and pictures. Eda felt like a songsteel sword, with the sun reflecting off of its surface in spears of light, meant to dazzle and blend. Shiv felt much like he looked. His dominant emotions were _affability _and _contentedness. _To Ro, that translated into the image of a very big, very fluffy dog lazing in the bright sunshine, warm and comfortable, but with an impressive set of teeth to be used. The two of them should have been completely incompatible and yet, Ro felt no conflict between Eda's sharpness and Shiv's relaxed demeanor. Their emotions did not clash, but came together in a harmony so complete, Ro felt that not only was it lasting, but it had been playing for a long time now. When Shiv put one furry arm about his wife's shoulders, their emotions mixed together so perfectly, that Ro had to look away, suddenly feeling obtrusive.

_They're like Geith and Callista. _Geith Eris and Callista Ming were two other Altisian Jedi, who had only recently declared themselves an item. No one on the _Chu'unthor _had been very surprised at the announcement. Those two were simply perfect together, like two trees leaning against each other for protection and support against the world's storms. It was, Ro thought, what Shiv and Eda must have felt like at the start. _I'll never have that, _she thought and felt a familiar ache in her chest. The older she got, the more she came to understand the consequences of her decision to accept the mind-block. On Tanaab, she had been too young and too emotionally wrought to understand the full effects of her choice. But now, as she watched others find love and saw so enduring a love as shared by Shiv and Eda, Ro could not help but feel envious and sad at the fact that this was something she could never explore. The mind-block would never allow her to experience that depth of feeling, nor to share so complete a connection with anyone else. Even her bond with her brother had weakened as a consequence of the mind-block's influence over her body and her Force-abilities. _But I need it, _she reminded herself sternly. _I can't allow the chance that I'll ever hurt someone again, like I hurt Tanib. _But that did not lessen the regret.

Still, neither envy nor self-pity had ever been part of Ro's nature, so she pushed them aside and decided to enjoy the warmth of the love she felt from Eda and Shiv. Turning her face to the fire to feel it's heat against her skin, Ro closed her teal eyes and basked in that wonderful emotion like a cat in the sun. She opened herself to it and it felt like taking a good swallow of hot chocolate: smooth and creamy and with a delicious warmth that traveled down her throat and into her belly, where it spread throughout her body. That was love.

Master Altis gently nudging her with one elbow brought Ro out of her reverie. She had no idea how much time had past. She looked up, startled, to see Eda and Shiv standing before her. Eda made a gesture at Ro, signifying to the girl that she was to stand up. Ro did so, tilting her head slightly upwards to gaze at the older woman in curiosity.

"Why?" Eda asked, her educated voice firm. "Why do you want this life? Why hunt criminals? No glory in it. No rewards and plenty of filth. Of all kinds."

Ro opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it, realizing that her normal way of simply blurting out the first thought that came to her, would probably not be the best choice. This might be the most important conversation she ever had with the regal female and Ro had better think over her response carefully.

"The Jedi try to do good," she said slowly, "but they try do good by being peacekeepers. And that's great," she hastily added, not wanting either Eda and Shiv or Altis to think she did not appreciate the traditional roles of a Jedi. Because she did and what they did was truly incredible. "But sometimes," she said, answering Eda as well as her own thoughts, "keeping the peace is not enough. You can't just negotiate a problem, you have to get to the root of it and a lot of the times, that root is some single person who thinks that his power gives him the right to do as he pleases. And a lot of the time, he's right," she said, thinking of Spira and a rapist who had escaped justice due to his personal fortune and a Jedi Knight who had accepted the verdict as nothing more but due course. "The local law enforcement can't always act against those people, either because they don't have the evidence or because they're being paid off. But a Jedi," and here she paused for a moment to look Eda straight in the eye, "a Jedi is different. You're right Miss Ikuzu, we do rely on the Force, because the Force can tell and show us things that others can't perceive. I can _feel _when someone is lying to me, I can _feel _when someone is a bad or a good person. And I want to use that ability to help those people other Jedi might overlook, because their duty of keeping the peace forces them to look beyond the individual; makes them focus on the greater good." Ro thought of Divo, teasing her friend Nia until the other girl broke into tears. She thought of Spira and the female resort workers, cowed by their employers into silence. She thought of some of the Twi'leks aboard the _Chu'unthor _and their stories of what it was like to be considered a commodity, instead of a sentient being. "And I don't like bullies," she added with a conviction as firm as the floor beneath her feet.

For a moment, Eda was silent, thoughtfully staring into the fire. Then she reached out a hand, took Ro's chin between her fingers and tilted her head up for a better look. Her hazel eyes searched Ro's face for a long time, an interval in which no one spoke or even moved.

"My husband thinks you have humor," the elderly Human said. "He thinks you have a good heart." She waved a hand in Shiv's direction who was watching the interaction with a carefully blanked expression. "_I _think," she continued, "you have a clear mind. I think you have courage. I am always right." She gave a sharp nod, as if that settled it and Ro supposed it did.

"I will teach you what I know," Eda continued, letting go of Ro's chin. "I will teach you poise. Secrecy, mystery; a woman's weapons."

Ro's confusion must have shown, because Shiv gave one of his rumbling chuckles. "Eda was once a member of the Mercenary Guild; a trained spy and assassin, specializing in the upper classes." He shot his wife a fond look full of nostalgia. "That's how we met, you know. She shot me during a mission."

"You were in my way," Eda snapped, but with more teasing than heat. "Silly wolf, you should have been faster to duck." Then she poked a long finger at Ro's chest. "The filth is in more than the underworld. You want to prune the roots? They're not all stuck in the dirt. Biggest filth is often in the shiniest of places. You need to learn to fit in, to play at a role. Make them think you are one of them. I'll teach you and no one will ever blow your cover."

Then Shiv leaned forward, his one eye gleaming with merriment. "That leaves me to teach you about the gunk at the bottom; the lowest of the low society has to offer. How they think, how they react, how to best lay your trap." He pulled his lips back to expose his fangs in a grin that had little humor to it. "You wait and see, little bit. When we two are through with you, you'll be the best hunter this galaxy has to offer. A real terror among the terrible."

Ro looked from one to the other, then caught Master Altis's approving smile. They would not make it easy for her, especially Eda. And being trained by them would mean less time for university, less time on the _Chu'unthor_ and for her own hobbies, because she would also have to keep working on her Jedi skills.

It would be very hard, but that was alright, as far as Ro was concerned. _Wherever you are, _she thought, _big or small, I'll come and get you. I'll learn everything I can and then I'll protect people, just like dad used to do. Just like Garett does. _

She turned bright eyes on the three adults, jutting her chin out in challenge. "I want to be a monster hunter," she declared. "So I want to learn everything you can teach me."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I apologize if this chapter was a little boring. This is a bit of a late edition to the story and is mostly meant to introduce Eda and Shiv. I realized while writing _Call of the Mockingbird _that these two need more of an introduction than I originally gave them and this is the result. Hope it was still a little fun. Next chapter will be far more exciting, I promise.


	28. Chapter 28: 22 BBY

**Author's Note: **This chapter was co-written with the wonderful **laloga, **who not only wrote the second part of the chapter, but also gave permission for her Alpha-85, "Tully", to join the show once more. To find out more about this delightful character go to her profile at once and start reading. *Makes shooing motions* Go. Go.

* * *

**The End of One, The Other Carries On**

"_Tin soldier made from fear and shame,_

_Tin soldier shaped by lies and pain. _

_I'm a tin soldier; weapon more than child._

_A gun to point whichever way they choose._

_I've nothing left to lose." _

"_Tin Soldier" by Julia Ecklar_

* * *

Geonosis, Petranaki arena, 22 BBY

In the aftermath of his first real battle, Wren had to think about Asher and his long ago question about the reality of the simulations. Finally he had an answer, though Asher was no longer here to hear it.

_No, the real thing is nothing like the simulations. It's a lot worse. _Although, considering the amount of carnage he had witnessed a year ago, when one of the cannons had exploded during a training exercise, he supposed that that had come pretty close. Certainly, there had been the same amount of blood and shredded bodies as there were now. And the screams: that was another similarity. Except, in the training exercises, he'd never heard his enemies scream in the throes of death or mortal injury. And the Geonosian bugs could scream like nothing Wren had ever experienced. He figured that sound would stay with him for a while, just like the dry, rasping beat of their wings and the shrill ringing of the sonic blasters. Kripes, those things could do a lot of damage to a body.

He leaned against the wall of one of the many tunnels that riddled the Petranaki arena, close enough to the entrance for light to filter through the darkness, but far enough that the rest of the patrol wouldn't see him. He just needed a few moments to himself, to collect his thoughts and wait out the shaking that was running through his limbs. Fatigue, he knew, as much as the effects of his sinking adrenaline levels. He always felt drained after a fight, though during, weariness was a foreign concept.

_And that's all it is, _he reminded himself. _Aftermath of an adrenaline rush, nothing more. Not…the other thing. _

But who was he kidding? The fact was, his limbs weren't just shaking because of the strain of a prolonged battle. He'd done training simulations that had lasted longer than the subjugation of Geonosis. His body could take it. No, what bothered him was what he had seen during the battle and what he was hearing now.

Wren closed his eyes and listened to the urgent whispers coming through various comm channels in his helmet. Troopers' voices all of them, keeping to the closed squad and company channels, avoiding the public ones.

"_Did you see….Was on the balcony with…Fought against the Jedi…Fought with the enemy…Why…How…Can't be…Couldn't have known…Dead now…Took twelve Jedi to kill him…Always honorable…" _

He silenced the voices, closing all comm channels and leaving nothing but the emergency override as a means of contacting him. Blessed silence engulfed the private world of the inside of his helmet. Not that it did anything to alleviate the chaos in his mind. Nor did it help with the images flashing before his eyes. He saw it, again and again, Fett's armored body falling to the red, sandy ground of the arena, headless. With a mangled cry that was both frustration and sob, Wren pulled his helmet off of his head, letting it drop amidst the dust and rubble.

Fett was dead. Fett was dead? Fett was _dead. _But he was dead at the hands of another.

He spun around, away from the entrance and viciously kicked a Geonosian corps, riddled with blaster burns. The hard, chitin exoskeleton of the bug cracked with a pleasing sound beneath the force of his armored boot, so Wren kicked the thing again and again, letting his anger carry him away.

Fett was dead. Decapitated by a lightsaber instead of shot by a blaster or stabbed with a knife. Hell, he would have even broken the man's neck with his bare hands if he'd ever gotten the chance. Except, now he would never get the chance again.

The exoskeleton broke completely and something stinking and organic began to spill from the corpse, still slightly warm. It was the aroma of the thing that kept Wren from kicking it any more and he turned away from the dead bug. But he was still seething.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Fett should have been _his. He _had been the one who had suffered for eight years under Fett. What possible grievance could the Jedi have had with the bounty hunter that would give him the right to usurp Wren's prerogative on ending Fett's life?

Not one. But still, before his eyes the purple blade kept descending, over and over again, always ending in that elegant sweep that cut cleanly through flesh, bone and cartilage. There hadn't even been any blood, the heat of the lightsaber having instantly cauterized the wound. No blood, no final death scream; just a clean, quick kill. That hadn't been what he had deserved!

Taking great, gasping breaths of the hot, dry air, Wren leaned his head against the dust and sand covered wall of the tunnel.

Fett was dead. Now he would never avenge Asher. Or Thrush. Because to Wren's way of thinking, Fett was as responsible for Thrush's fate, as he'd been for Asher's. Because ultimately, it had been Fett who had set all their lives into motion, and yet, he had never claimed any responsibility for the clones. They were just units to be trained after all.

_Is this what you wanted, old man? _He wondered. _Are you proud of your clones, of the army you created? We came, we saw, we killed and we died. We're finally fulfilling our purpose. _

He had thought that, once Fett was dead, he would feel…well…he wasn't sure what he had expected to feel. He had thought, maybe relief, validation, a sense of accomplishment as with the end of a difficult mission. A lessening, perhaps, of the constant anger that seemed to suffuse him; that made him want to strike out and fight and fight until he collapsed in exhaustion or was killed. But there was none of that. The anger was still there, as potent as ever. And beside that…he just felt empty. Empty and tired. He didn't even have the satisfaction of having the other clones see Fett for what he really was.

For kriffing fek's sake, the man had been fighting on the orders of the very person identified to them as the commander of the droid forces. And yet, they were _still singing his praises! _

Wren slammed his fist into the wall, liking the sound of his gauntlet scraping against the rock, liking the feel of the bones of his hand moving and giving way to the solid mass of stone. So he hit it again.

He'd seen it all; had been given a front-row seat, so to speak, from his position in the gunship as it had approached the Petranaki arena. He'd seen the Jedi, all huddled together and surrounded by tan colored battle droids and the dead. And he had seen Fett; Fett, all armored up on a balcony next to an elderly Human male, whom the HUD identified for him as Count Dooku, a priority target. And as he had lain down a volley of covering fire, he had watched Fett rocket down to the arena, where he had proceeded to fight _against the Jedi. _

Wren breathed in the close, musky smelling air of the tunnel and was once more overcome by the confusion he had felt at that moment, as the man he had hated for almost all of his life had, in fact, become the enemy. And confusion had given way to anticipation as his boots had connected with his very first battlefield and he had finally started the work he had been trained for, for the past ten years. And all the while he had kept his eyes on Fett, had worked himself towards the man's position, somehow knowing that, today of all days, it would finally end. Wren had just never expected that end to come due to the actions of another.

And in the wake of Fett's death, what was he left with? His vendetta against Fett had been the last thing to connect him to his old life, to his time as an ARC cadet, to his brief time with Asher. And now, it was all gone. So much dust on the harsh Geonosian winds. Where did that leave him?

Wren stepped back from the tunnel's wall, then leaned his back against it and slid down to the sand covered ground to sit amidst the blasted corpses of Geonosians and droids alike. He felt oddly disconnected to it all, as if neither he nor the planet beneath him were truly there. It was all just…so surreal. The unexpected call to battle, the flight here and the battle itself. The strangeness of the planet, the grace of the Jedi, the sudden reality of what it was the clones were doing. And always, always, the image of that unstoppable purple lightsaber. He'd never seen a lightsaber in action before that. But that too seemed far away and unimportant.

The last time he had felt this…disoriented, was right after he had killed that commando, during his informal trial.

Reflexively, he looked down at his hands, checking them for blood. But there was only the black of his gloves and the white plastoid of his gauntlets. He drew a thumb over the back of one hand and it came away covered in the red sand that marked this planet. Red, but not the red of blood. His armor had been as glaringly white and shiny as the walls of Tipoca when it had been issued to him. Now, it was filthy from hours of battle; covered in fine sand, scraped here and there from close contact with hard objects and charred from blaster burns. His shiny status hadn't lasted long.

And what blood there was, was purely his own.

Relieved, he let his head fall back against the tunnel wall. But the feeling of emptiness, of floating outside of himself persisted and he didn't like it. Didn't like how it left him feeling helpless, not in control. Just as he did not like having to see Fett's ignoble death every time he closed his eyes. The man hadn't even done him the favor of dying slowly.

The old anger swelled within him and he grasped at it gratefully, letting it crest and wash over him. Anything to forget; anything to get him away from the memory of the face he had turned into an indistinct pulp and the feel of another clone's blood on his hands.

He let the anger fill him; let it propel him forwards, to a stand and away from the wall. What did it matter that Fett was dead? So the old man had finally bitten the dust, well, he couldn't have chosen a better world for it. It was pointless to waste this much time and energy agonizing over a dead man. Jango Fett hadn't been worth this much consideration alive. And he had other things to look forward to now, aside from the killing of an old man.

The war they had been promised for ten years had finally arrived. Even as he and his patrol had swept through the arena, searching for possible last pockets of enemy resistance, there had been talk of future plans for reorganizing the fleet, of integrating the Jedi into the command structure permanently. Already there was speculation about where they would be sent next, rumors of planets seceding from the Republic, of a spreading droid army. He still had plenty of enemies to fight, even if they had not loomed as large or as long in his life as Fett had. There was an entire galaxy at war out there against which he could prove his skills.

The thought gave him some satisfaction, and even though it rang slightly hollow, he decided it was enough. Better than sitting around here, struggling with the reality of Jango Fett's death. He was a _man _for fierfek's sake, not some cadet crying out for his sergeant. He didn't need Fett. Didn't need the older man to show him the way, didn't need him as a standard by which to measure himself. It wasn't like he would miss the old barve, because he wouldn't. He _didn't. _Wren had always found his own way in life, so really, nothing had changed. He was still alone. And Fett wasn't worth this much emotion. He sure as kriff had never wasted any on his clones.

Wren rolled his broad shoulders, as if trying to shirk off this line of thought and walked a little further down the tunnel to retrieve his discarded bucket. It was time he got back to the patrol. He was just in the process of bending over to get the helmet, when he caught the slightest of movements from the shadows. His head shot up and dropping the helmet again, he lifted his Deece instead.

The blaster whined with the charge and he quickly activated the small lamp attached to the barrel, cursing his lack of helmet. _Stupid. Just karking stupid. _

The lamp was not as powerful as the one attached to his helmet and barely pierced the shadows further inside the tunnel. But it was enough light that, for perhaps a second or more, he saw the startled and filthy face of a child. A child with his face, when he had been about five standard years old and had looked like ten. They both froze.

_Boba! _The name went through him like a shot and Wren quite honestly did not know what to do. Boba had been with Fett when he had come to Geonosis. That made him the enemy as well, didn't it? So he should take him into custody.

_Or just shoot him, _another, more malicious voice whispered in his head. It would be easy too. His finger was already curled around the trigger. All he needed to do was pull and Fett's pet clone would be done for. He would have exacted at least some measure of revenge against the bounty hunter.

But even as he considered shooting the boy, another memory came to him. Three, to be precise. It was Asher's face, startled and happy after Wren had offered to help him improve his marksmanship. It was Thrush's face, empty and bleak as he gazed over the ruins of the training room that had become the grave of most of his company. And it was the face of the commando whose name he still did not know, and who was dead at Wren's hands. So many already dead before the war had started. So much clone blood already spilt and through his own fault as well. Did he have to add to that kill count?

Wordlessly, Wren lowered his blaster and Boba scuttled backwards into the darkness of the tunnel.

_You're on your own now kid. Welcome to the club._

The comlink on his wrist beeped, as did the one in his helmet. Wren pressed the receive button and the voice of a clone, uppity with authority, echoed through the silent tunnel.

"_All squads, report to RV point Gamma for transport. Repeat, report for transport offplanet. Over." _

Wren gathered up his helmet and made his way towards the exit of the tunnel to rejoin his patrol squad. It looked like endex for now. He cast one last look over his shoulder into the darkness. He wondered suddenly, if Boba had seen what he had seen; if the clone knew how Fett had died. And he wondered, if Boba was feeling angry. Perhaps, he even felt hatred.

_Not my problem, _he thought and stepped into the glaring light of Geonosis. He had other concerns now. Like getting to the RV point and seeing where his next fight would come from. There were a lot of enemies waiting for him to take them down.

* * *

Geonosis, RV point Gamma, three klicks outside of the Petranaki arena.

As far as first battles went, Alpha-85 supposed this one had been a success.

For starters, he was alive – immensely preferable to the alternative. The worst injury he'd sustained was a shot to his left arm that had stung pretty badly but had not incapacitated him; after he'd been struck, a slather of bacta and a stim shot had done wonders, though now he was starting to feel the pain-killing element wearing off. His kit was no longer shiny and clean, but scoured with rusty, Geonosian dust, and his blue-striped kama now sported a few char-marks where he'd managed to avoid stray blaster-bolts hitting his body.

Some time during the fray he'd momentarily stopped shooting things in order to change out the powerpack on his deece, and had been set upon by a trio of bugs. Thanks to his training, he'd been able to dispatch them the low-tech way via his fists and his forehead, the latter of which was smarting a little from the impact.

Ah, well. At least the bugs had made a satisfying _crunch_ when he'd smashed them to stinking pieces.

Grinning behind his bucket at the memory, Alpha-85, who called himself "Tully," scanned the area again, taking in the controlled chaos in the aftermath of the battle. The perimeter had been secured and reinforced by a circle of All Terrain Tactical Enforcers. The heavy Mass-driver cannon positioned atop each of the AT-TEs were performing continuous sweeps of the terrain, wary of a possible ambush. Although Geonosis had been officially ruled as subjugated, there was always the chance of a last-ditch enemy offensive and no army was ever more vulnerable than in the first hours after a battle, when the chaos of the fight gave way to the chaos of shifting thousands of troops offplanet and towards the waiting _Acclamator-_class assault ships orbiting above.

So while a sea of plastoid mingled within the relative safety of the circle, squads still patrolled outside of the perimeter, weapons ready, and the AT-TE crews were still on-duty. In the meantime, what seemed like an endless line of clones was waiting to step aboard the troop transports for evac from the dusty world.

Some of the satisfaction from his bug-crunching memories faded and Tully sighed. Tired, hungry, sore – not to mention the way his kriffing arm was hurting worse with each moment – he was _beyond_ ready to be off this rock...but _of-crinking-course_ he'd been assigned to what he thought of as "babysitting:" overseeing the regular grunts as they made their way back to the starships.

It was his own fault, though he didn't really want to admit it.

Considering that Tully had seen more than a few shinies lose their heads with all the new experiences, the overall fighting had gone well. Even though he knew a loss of control was to be expected – the regular clones had not had the same thorough training he'd been given – he'd made his own fair share of cracks at the grunts' expense over the ARCs' private comm channel. Shinies were there to be mocked, and Tully figured he'd stopped being a shiny a long time before today, despite the new scars on his armor.

Anyway, he and several of the other ARCs had laughingly commented on the ineptitude of the regular clones, but only Tully had been unlucky enough to be overheard by ARC Captain Dax, who'd then seen fit to bestow him with this _delightful_ little task.

Though his body was still humming with adrenaline, Tully knew he'd crash from exhaustion before too long and hoped that he'd be away from here well before that happened. _Assuming the crinking shinies can get a move on, that is. _

With that, he cleared his throat before calling out to the steady stream of grunts who were lining up in obedient, orderly rows before him, waiting their turn to step aboard the larties. "Troopers! If you're not bleeding from the head or missing a limb, hurry it up!"

At his shouting, most of the troopers did pick up the pace, but the line still moved no faster than a Dagobian boulder-slug, and his teeth gritted. ARC troopers were _vastly _more efficient than these _di'kutle_, but he knew that the regular clones' numbers were what gave them an advantage in battle, rather than any kind of useful training. They were meant to be disposable, and as he watched them shuffle along, even more of his satisfaction faded at the dark thought. It was a reality that he and the other ARCs were well aware of, but normally he didn't have to think about it too much, segregated as they'd all been for much of their lives.

Tully watched as two bucket-less clones limped along before him, bracing each other up as they went, and speaking quietly. He wondered how many more battles either of them would see before they fell and didn't rise again. He wondered if they were even aware of how much useful information was left out of their training. It was common knowledge among the ARCs that the grunts were only told the bare minimum, just enough to let them point and shoot. Nothing more was necessary for the cannon fodder. _Poor bastards. _

He was jostled out of his thoughts when something hard and unforgiving bumped into his injured arm, causing him to let out a hiss of pain. Annoyance flared right along with the feeling, so Tully rounded on the trooper – some crinking shiny who wasn't paying attention to where he was going. "Watch your step, _di'kut_, or I'll knock some sense of direction into that thick skull of yours."

At first Tully only saw a regular trooper with the markings of a private, his armor stained and charred in places like those of all the clones around them. This fellow had been in the act of putting on his helmet, but at Tully's words he'd turned his head slightly to the right, perhaps to catch sight of who was shouting at him.

That was when Tully caught sight of the scar at the corner of the other trooper's mouth: a thin line that ran up his cheek, giving the illusion of lips turned up into a perpetual half-smile.

Recognition, hard and icy cold, formed in the pit of Tully's stomach. _No kriffing way...but I know that scar._ His mouth fell open in utter shock as he gaped at a man he'd thought long dead. "Wrench?"

It was impossible, surely it was. Surely it was the stim playing tricks on his eyes, or the rippling heat from the Geonosian sun toying with his brain. Surely Tully wasn't looking at Alpha-20, a fellow ARC trooper who'd been terminated after...

Tully's gut churned at the memory. The day of that commando's death had been one that he would never forget. Of course, Tully had seen clone blood before but the sight had never been as horrific as it had that day. It was _murder _and _betrayal, _all rolled up into a knot of unanswerable questions.

What had been worse was the knowledge that Wrench – ferocious, brilliant, _Wrench_ – had killed another clone in a fit of fury that, in retrospect, Tully thought they all should have seen coming.

And now he was looking at the man, the brother, the murderer who himself should be dead.

This didn't make sense; it was like trying to put on his helmet only to find that it didn't fit any longer. Tully's throat went dry and scratchy, like it'd somehow gotten coated with dust despite the filters of his bucket. Impossible. It had to be impossible. He swallowed and called out again, a note of urgency in his voice where authority should have been. "Trooper!"

A few helmeted heads glanced his direction, and the lips of the trooper quirked upwards, turning the half-smile into a smirk of arrogance and amusement. The expression, like the scar itself, was _way _too familiar for comfort. Then the face of the man Tully thought he knew turned away, quickly shoving on his bucket and moving towards the waiting transports. Tully debated for one moment, then decided to _haran _with his task and moved to catch the other clone. He had to know the truth. It was irrational, crazy and stupid, and he was probably hallucinating, but he _had to know_ if it was really Wrench.

Of course, he had no idea what he'd do if it _was. _If Wrench hadn't been terminated, as Fett had told them all...

Tully gritted his teeth. He knew Fett hadn't told them everything, but the thought that he'd been _lied _to so blatantly made him want to shoot something, or someone.

Now, of course, the kriffing shinies decided to hurry along, so Tully found himself pushing through what seemed like an ocean of plastoid, wave after wave of clones who were unwittingly preventing him from reaching his goal. Frustrated with his lack of forward motion, Tully switched tactics and tried to call his lost brother's name again but the word got stuck in the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

But his efforts were useless.

By the time Tully was able to break free, the trooper had disappeared into the anonymous mass of white-armored clones, just one among the many. Gone. Like a ghost; like he'd never been there at all. Frowning, Tully stood beside one of the gunships, rubbing his aching arm and trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He removed his bucket and pulled out a water-flask, trying to put his thoughts in some kind of order as he gulped down the liquid and savored the cool trickle down his throat.

It was probably just his imagination. He'd seen an _osik_-load of other clones today, more than usual. Yeah, Fett didn't tell them everything, but there was no way – no _way – _that Wrench _wouldn't _have been terminated for the murder of the commando. Hell, Tully had seen fellow ARCs terminated for a lot less. The Kaminoans did not tolerate aberrations and it was no secret that Jango Fett had always hated Wrench.

_Fat lot of good that did either of them._

Tully took one last sip of water, still trying to correlate what his eyes had shown him with what his brain understood. To his heart, he gave no consideration because it was unreliable, anyway. Maybe he was more fatigued than he realized. Maybe he'd gotten a concussion from knocking the bugs around. Maybe what had seemed like an unmistakeable scar had just been a post-battle hallucination.

Maybe he was kriffing insane.

A part of him hoped that was the case, because he didn't like the idea that he'd been lied to any more than the idea that any kind of useful information had been left out of his training. If Fett hadn't told the other ARCs the truth about Wrench, what else had he kept hidden? What other answers were out there, hidden beneath questions Tully didn't know to ask?

Stowing the flask, Tully glanced around again but of course "Wrench" was nowhere to be found. _I'm just tired, _he thought with a scowl. _That's all there is to this whole mess. _

It was useless to fret about all that nonsense now, anyway. He had a kriffing job to do and the last of his energy was fading fast. He shoved his bucket back on and turning back towards the rows of shinies who had – predictably – begun to mill about in his absence. _Fragging fantastic._

"Oh, come the kriff on," he called out to the nearest bunch, who nearly fell over themselves to get out of his way. "This isn't an obstacle course, guys. It's simple: Get. On. The transports. _Now._"

As the grunts scrambled towards the nearest larty, Tully resisted the urge to look around again. Right now he had a job to do and it was sloppy to divert his attention from the task at hand, no matter how annoying it was. The best course of action was to let the sighting go and ask a medic to scan him later, just in case he did have a concussion.

All around him, the shinies hurried along, but Tully suddenly felt very odd and out-of-place. It made no sense. He was just tired. He needed to focus on his job and nothing else.

Because, he told himself, it was pointless to search for a dead man among the living.


	29. Chapter 29: 22 BBY

**Interlude II**

"_Turn the page, I need to see something new_

_For now my innocence is torn._

_We cannot linger on this stunted view, _

_Like rabid dogs of war." _

"_War" by Poets of the Fall_

* * *

Geonosis, on board the _Prosecutor _orbiting Geonosis, 22 BBY

After having his wounds treated by a very tired and harried looking medical staff, Garett needed a moment to himself. He desperately needed to meditate, to regain his emotional equilibrium and to reflect on the events of this awful day.

But despite the size of the _Acclamator I_ – class assault ship, finding a bit of privacy was turning out to be most difficult. He tried settling himself into various small niches; he even tried a broom closet on the lower deck, but always invariably found himself in someone's way. But Garett was tenacious if nothing else and so he worked his methodical way through every level of the ship until he finally reached a small observation platform on the very upper deck of the _Prosecutor. _Judging by the empty feeling of the room, both physical and within the Force, he would not be disturbed here.

Garett settled himself cross-legged in front of the large viewport, half of which was taken up by the looming figure of the red planet he had fought on, only a few hours before. It was a not a sight he wanted to see – Force, he would be happy if he never had to set eyes on the accursed planet ever again – but that was an emotion unworthy of a Jedi. A Jedi did not run away from his feelings, but confronted them head on, to understand them and to let them go. So Garett forced his teal eyes to travel along the outlines of the planet, before he closed them and sank deeply into the wide ocean that was the Force.

Normally, the experience of immersing himself in the Force was one of a joy so pure and intense, it was sometimes painful to rouse his mind back to consciousness. Not so now. At this moment, the Force was not a clear pool of water, but a muddied and roiling swamp full of the echoes of pain, sorrow, fatigue and the terrible, terrible emptiness of death. The battle of Geonosis had cost so many their lives, Jedi and clone alike and the Force mourned the loss of those bright points of light almost as intensely as did the survivors of the battle.

And there were so many to mourn. Though his breathing remained steady, Garett's heart clenched painfully as he called upon the memory of all those Jedi who had not survived the massacre at the arena and the smaller battles that had taken place afterwards.

Quietly, he recited their names to himself. _Joclad Danva…Ur-Sema Du…Tarrados Gon…Nat Sem…Stam Reath…Lura Tranor…Galdos Stouff…Makare Dai_

The last two names made the eyes behind his closed lids shuttle back and forth in agitation. They were names closely related to another, one even more dear to him. _Ro. _His sister and Galdos had often engaged in silly games, consisting mostly of cartwheels and other acrobatic nonsense. And Makare, although not a close friend of his sister, had been a clanmate of hers. Garett knew that the two had clashed on occasion, mostly due to the boy's friendship with the Rodian Divo, another former Squall. But in private, Ro had always marveled at Makare's ability to use the Force to move objects in almost every conceivable pattern. She had regaled Garett with stories of how Makare had actually folded an entire zoo out of sheets of flimsi, using nothing but the Force.

But there would be no more laughter-filled games and friendly competitions with Galdos, or amazing flimsi art by Makare. Both were dead; cut down on the unforgiving soil of Geonosis.

And for the first time since she had left, Garett was very, very glad indeed that his sister was no longer a member of the Jedi Order. He did not think that she would have been chosen as a member of the task force sent to save Master Kenobi, his Padawan and the Senator, as well as to confront the former Jedi, Count Dooku. Ro was too young…

_But Makare was only eighteen as well. _The thought was disturbing and caused his concentration to falter. It could have been Ro. It could have been his little sister, lying there amongst other dead, riddled with blaster burns and bleeding out the last of her life on the red sand. It could have been. Garett clenched his fists momentarily, then forcibly relaxed them again. But it hadn't been; instead, it had been a boy of equal years, whom Garett had barely known.

But it wasn't just the similarities in age between Ro and Makare that disturbed him. The mere thought of his empathic sister on a battlefield caused a small shudder to run its way down his spine. All that pain, all the emotional turmoil he had been exposed to today, it was enough to cause his mind unease and he was not overly empathic. For Ro, it would have been agony.

Garett took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, soothing his mind. This line of thought was superfluous. The fact was that Ro hadn't been here; she was safe, way back in the Mid Rim, learning Force-knew what kind of nonsense from that odd couple. Lingering over what could have been was pointless; a Jedi did not linger on the 'what ifs', or 'could haves'. Garett gathered those anxieties and let them flow back into the Force.

Instead of his sister, he now found his mind drifting towards the image of a clone trooper. The appearance of a clone army had been…surprising. Not that Garett wasn't grateful for their efforts; quite the contrary. Standing in that arena, surrounded by battle droids, moments away from being slaughtered with his fellow Jedi, Garett had never felt more gratitude than in that moment, when Master Yoda had swooped down, accompanied by an army of white-armored soldiers, armed to the teeth and apparently well-trained. It had been a heartening sight, but now, after the fighting, there were questions.

Where had that army come from? Why did the Republic have such an army? Who paid for it? Why was it ready, just when the Republic needed it?

There were just too many coincidences here for his liking. No. There was no such thing as coincidence, which meant that someone, somewhere, had had the credits, the means and the knowledge to prepare for a confrontation that had completely taken the rest of the Order by surprise.

And there were more questions; questions that made him profoundly uncomfortable to even think about.

After the arena had been secured, Master Koth had sent him away in a gunship with a contingent of clones to lead an assault on a Geonosian base. The fact that he had suddenly been placed _in charge _of a platoon of soldiers who were clearly far better trained for the situation than he was had almost staggered him. He was a _Padawan. _The most he had ever led was himself and a small group of security officers. Jedi most often worked alone and while they might on occasion work in tangent with the military, they didn't _command _the forces. And yet, the clones already at the engagement point had addressed him as "Commander" and "sir" and had taken every word out of his mouth as a direct order.

He had been useful at least; he had managed to save some lives using his not-inconsiderable Force-abilities. He had done his best to shield the men he had suddenly become responsible for and had taken the base. But so many had died, despite his best efforts.

And that brought him to his next point of concern. It had not occurred to him in the heat of battle, nor during the mind-numbing fatigue that had settled over him on the shuttle ride to the _Prosecutor. _But the knowledge that these faceless, white armored figures were in actuality _clones _and _sentient, feeling men _had hit him like a punch to the guts in the medbay. Everywhere he had looked while waiting for treatment, he had seen men with the same face, but with vastly different Force-signatures. During the battle, they had been almost deceptively calm, seemingly in perfect control of their emotions, so sure of their actions. Now they were reduced to bleeding, wounded individuals trying to stifle their pain, to remain stoic; sweaty, bloodied and dirty, maimed and burned and, more often than he cared to admit, dead.

The Republic had an army made up of cloned men, whose one purpose in life was to fight and die for a government that, until only a few hours ago, hadn't even known they had existed. And the Jedi were supposed to lead them.

_Can we do that? _He wondered. _Can we stand at the head of a column of soldiers and lead the charge? We're peacekeepers, not soldiers; shouldn't someone else be giving the orders? And can we ask them to fight? Do we have that right? Is any of this right? Is there a choice? _He asked himself and the Force, but found no answer forthcoming.

But did an answer truly matter? A Jedi was taught not to dwell in the past, for it could not be changed. Instead, a Jedi was supposed to live in the moment and look towards the future. A Jedi was not taught to think, but to _feel; _to trust the whispers of the Force and not his own fallible thoughts. The decision had been made; the Senate had passed the Military Creation Act, had accepted the clone army and the High Council was considering accepting the Jedi role in this new Grand Army. Was it not now his duty to take up the mantle of responsibility and to do his duty, to fight and defend the Republic and its people? Even at the cost of his own life and that of the clones he would have to lead? Even if it meant putting aside questions of morality for the moment, while he and the Order and the Republic stood on the brink of war?

So many questions and for the first time in his life, Garett felt himself hesitant to ask them out loud.

"I can feel how troubled you are, Padawan."

Garett's teal eyes fluttered open and he looked to his side and up to see his Master, Eeth Koth, standing next to him by the viewport. Unlike Garett, the Zabrak Master had taken the time to clean up and change into a new robe, but his face was still lined with fatigue and the strain of the recent battle. But his eyes regarded Garett kindly and with great attention.

"But I am glad to see you are trying to work through those troubles and regain balance."

Garett rose to his feet and bowed a little towards his Master, ignoring the twinge his newly healed ribs gave. Over their years together, he and Master Koth had developed a fondness for each other, though Garett never forgot his proper place, or his manners, when addressing his Master.

"Thank you, Master, though I fear that my efforts have not offered me the clarity that I hoped they would."

Master Koth nodded solemnly, then turned and regarded the vista of stars outside, illuminated by the glare of Geonosis' harsh sun and the glow of the red planet.

"I understand," he said. "Clarity is hard to achieve at this moment and not just for you. I too struggle to gain an understanding of recent events and where they might lead us. The dark side has already made its insidious way through the Force."

Garett felt a small shudder at that. The dark side; if there was an equivalent to the boogeyman in Jedi lore, then it was the dark side and the Sith. _And now both have become reality and at the hands of a man who was once one of the most respected Masters of the Order. _

The thought caused him to shift uneasily. If a man such as Dooku could fall, did that not mean any Jedi could?

A hard and calloused hand landed softly on his shoulder. Garett met the brown eyes of his Master, full of concern and thoughtful.

"Your mind is overwhelmed with questions, Garett," he said.

"Yes, Master." Garett admitted. "More questions than I ever had in all my life. Even when struggling with the verdicts of the Code, I did not have so many doubts plague my mind." Master Koth's hand gave his shoulder a slight squeeze, encouraging him to continue.

Garett took a deep breath, tying to organize his restless musings into coherency. "I have witnessed the death of Jedi before, Master. It is sad, but that is the life that we lead. But today, I saw more Jedi die than in my entire life and on the orders of a man who was once one of us. I have led men more knowledgeable about warfare than me and though I did my best I," he licked his lips as he remembered the taking of the Geonosian base, "I know that some of those men, maybe even most of them, died because of my inexperience. I spent a lot of time in the medbay and I saw men bleed and die while listening to others talk about them like they were," he struggled to find the right words. "Like they were…droids or some sort of machines made of flesh. I," he shook his head, feeling the weight of the Padawan braid shift against his neck. "I just don't understand these sudden changes."

"And does that frighten you?" Master Koth asked.

Garett thought about that; not just because he wanted to give the right answer, but because his Master had taught him that to speak hastily, was to speak foolishly. And a lot of damage could be done through foolishness.

"No, Master," he finally said. "It is not fear, I feel. I am pained by the loss of all these lives. I worry about the future of the Republic and the role the Senate wants the Jedi to play in the coming war and I wonder about the morality of using a clone army. But fear is one of the few things that does not trouble me."

Garett felt that his Master was pleased at this answer and that buoyed him. He had spoken nothing but the truth and it was always gratifying to see truth bring a positive change to people.

"I believe your concerns are valid, Garett," Master Koth said. "Many on the Council share them." That surprised Garett. He'd never considered that the doubts that plagued him could also plague the Jedi of the High Council. They were the most learned and wise members of the Order; somehow, he'd always thought them above such petty concerns as troubled a mere Padawan, like himself.

Being able to discern his pupil's thoughts through the Force and their years of association, Eeth Koth chuckled at Garett's surprise. "You are truly humble sometimes, my young Padawan," he said. "More so than most." Then his expression turned serious once more. "Do not think that you are alone in your doubts, Garett. Many Jedi are uneasy by what has happened and the Council is no exception. The only question," and here his Master gave a heavy sigh, "is how to address the issues."

For a moment, both Master and Padawan stared out at the endless display of stars, contemplating events and questions. Finally, Garett spoke up. "I cannot speak for the Council, or for the other Jedi," he said. "But for me, I will do whatever I can to do justice to the trust and the responsibility given to me. Once back at the Temple, I will research and study military tactics and history. I will familiarize myself with the relevant protocols and, with your permission Master, I will see if I can't schedule a few interviews with the admirals and other officers, for some more detailed explanations. I would also like to speak to some of the clone officers. I think I could benefit from what they have learned."

"All this," Master Koth asked carefully, "so you will become a better soldier?"

"No, Master," he said, his voice firm. "All this, so that no more men die, because I misjudge a situation. If I must lead, then I will do so to the best of my abilities and harness all of my talents, not just the Force."

"And your questions?"

Garett closed his eyes, rubbing one hand along the side of his face, feeling the encrusted grime of the last few hours. "They will have to wait," he said. "I have a duty to protect this Republic and that must be my priority. I must put aside personal doubts and focus on the immediate task." He swallowed, seeing once more Master Agen Kolar bending down to touch the cooling body of his fallen Padawan, Tan Yuster. He saw a boy who had grown up with his little sister, charred almost beyond recognition by blaster burns. He saw Galdos, who had taught Ro how to do a backwards flip, overwhelmed by metallic, tan bodies. And he saw clone troopers cut down in a hail of blaster fire, because he had not recognized a ridge as the perfect point for an ambush. "So many lives depend on it," he whispered, almost to himself.

For a long moment, there was silence on the observation platform. Then Master Koth took Garett by both his shoulders and turned the young man to face him. With a small shock, Garett realized that he was actually a few inches taller than his Master now.

"You have grown in many ways, Garett," the Zabrak Master said, his dark face serious. "Today has shown me just how much. You have faced an ordeal that has cost many of our brothers and sisters their lives. You took command of a difficult situation and you accredited yourself well, despite what you might think," and Master Koth gave him a small, reassuring smile. "And despite all that you have been through, you are willing to take on even more responsibility out of a sense of duty for others. I am proud of you, Garett."

The words caused a small hitch in his throat. It was not the first time Master Koth had praised him. The Zabrak Master might not be effusive in his approval, but he had always let Garett know when he had done well. But there was something in the tone of the older man's voice, the way he had said his name that told Garett that this was not praise handed down from teacher to pupil. It was the approval given from one comrade to another, a sign of respect between equals.

"Master?" he asked, uncertain of the direction this conversation was taking.

Master Koth's dark eyes searched his dirty and scratched face intently for a moment, before giving a sharp nod. "I believe that today has been a trial for you, Garett. A Trial of the Flesh and of the Spirit. But also a Trial of Insight and of Courage."

Garett's eyes went wide. Was his Master saying, what he thought he was saying?

Master Koth smiled at him. "I believe you are ready, Garett. Ready to take on the rank of Jedi Knight."

"But I failed the Trial of Skill," he blurted out before he could stop himself. Master Koth frowned.

"I mean," Garett scrambled to try and save the situation. _This is why you're supposed to think before you talk, _he thought desperately. "What I meant to say, Master, is that I am honored you believe me ready to become a Knight. However, I," he looked away, feeling torn in two. Becoming a Knight at only twenty-two years of age was almost unheard of and spoke volumes about Master Koth's opinion of him. It was a dream come true, but at the same time…

_The clone lieutenant ran towards him, heavy fire cutting into flesh and desert rock. Around them, men and machinery screamed. _

"_Commander, we've headed straight into an ambush! We've got to retre…" A blaster shot slammed into the lieutenant's back, piercing his armor and killing him instantly. Garett only just managed to catch the falling body before it hit the ground. _

"I am young," he told his Master. "Young and inexperienced. I am barely aware of my duties as a commander. I would like," he swallowed against memories and the sight of Master Koth's carefully blanked face, "to gather more experience. To be a Knight means to be a general and entails even more responsibilities and for far more lives. I would like some time for my skills to be equal to those responsibilities, because I know they aren't right now."

"Time is something we can ill afford at the moment. Already, there is news of systems declaring their independence of the Republic," Master Koth said. "But if anything, your reaction tells me that I am right in my decision." He gave Garett's shoulders another squeeze, then stepped away. "I will recommend to the Council that you will be Knighted, once you have passed the Trial of Skill," he told his Padawan.

Garett felt relief and gratitude flood through him.

"But I warn you, Garett," he said, raising one cautioning hand. "We will not be able to give you much time to prepare. We have lost many Masters and Knights today and will need to fill their ranks as soon as possible. As such, it is doubly important that we promote first those Padawans we can be certain are up to the task."

Garett bowed to his soon-to-be former Master. "I promise you, Master Koth, that I will not disappoint the Council or you. I will do my utmost to bring myself up to speed on the necessary practices."

Master Koth nodded solemnly and made his way towards the observation platform's door. "That reminds me," he said, addressing Garett over one shoulder. "There is a message for you from your sister. It seems she has been trying to contact you at the Temple for some time."

Garett briefly closed his eyes, feeling for his connection to his sister. Indeed, he could feel the bond he shared with Ro thrumming in anxiety and worry from his sister's end. He'd been aware of it in some part of his mind, but had consciously ignored it during the battle and afterwards. His mind had been otherwise engaged.

Master Koth still stood at the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, his profile turned towards Garett. "Do you wish to call her back now?" he asked.

Garett opened his eyes and shook his head. "No, Master. I will let her know that I am well, but for now, I would prefer speaking with Captain Martz. I have some tactical questions I would wish to ask him, if he is not too busy."

Master Koth smiled in approval and left the observation platform, closely followed by Garett. It would be good to talk to Ro, he thought, but the time for it was not now. He had to set aside personal feelings and concentrate on his duty. He did spend the time it took him to track down Captain Martz sending soothing ripples through the Force-bond between himself and Ro, letting his little sister know that he was alive and well. He would tell her the details of the battle later. In particular, he wanted to be the one to tell her about the deaths of Galdos and Makare. He would be able to comfort her, even if it was only through a holotransmitter.

But right now, he had a war to learn how to fight and family would just have to wait. Duty always came first; it was the Jedi way.


	30. Chapter 30: 22 BBY

**Taking to the Air**

"_Take hold of my own dream,_

_Be as strong as the seas are stormy,_

_And proud as an eagle's scream._

_I will ride, I will fly,_

_Chase the wind and touch the sky." _

"_Touch the Sky" by Julie Fowlis_

* * *

Ansion, Dashbalar city, 22 BBY

Ro wasn't sure what she was seeing exactly, only that she had never seen its like before. It was a starship, at least forty meters in length, with dull grey plating. The two engines were seated to the rear of the ship, above wings that stretched out elegantly to the sides, curving inwards like crescents. The prow too curved slightly downwards, ending in a sharp point, giving the ship an overall appearance of a bird, moodily chained to the ground.

"A beaut isn't she?" asked a voice beside her.

Ro turned to smile into the grizzled face of her friend and mentor, Shiv Sanarl. "Yeah," she said. "She surely is."

The old Shistavanen dropped his graying muzzle to give her a smile, exposing his fangs. "You've got a good eye on you, little bit. She's a special one."

"What type of starship is it? I don't recognize the design."

"Well…" Shiv said, drawing the word out while raising one clawed hand to scratch behind a tattered ear. "She's not really any kind of specific starship. The hull used to belong to a light courier I got to pay off an old debt. Over the years though, I've gone and modified and changed and added so much, the old gal's pretty much become a class all of her own." Another fang-exposing smile. "Guess that's what happens when an old tinkerer like me gets to be retired."

Ro gasped slightly at that bit of news. "You built this? You never told me you built a starship." She had been living with Shiv and his wife, Eda, for a little over a year now and she had thought she had seen every one of Shiv's 'tinkerings'. How had he managed to keep this secret from her? "That is so sneaky," she accused him, utterly delighted. Living with the elderly couple was never boring.

Shiv chuckled, a sound that rumbled deeply in his broad chest. "Well, you know I did used to be a covert ops specialist. Sneaky is my middle name. As is devious and underhanded."

Ro smiled back at him, but her gaze was inadvertently drawn back to the strange ship, tucked away in the far corner of the hangar. As if of their own accord, her feet brought her closer, fingers tentatively touching the cool durasteel platings of the hull. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it. Being small was sometimes so annoying. But she could see now that Shiv had ben right, he had heavily modified the ship. The overall shape was that of a light, fast courier, but the wings looked suspiciously as if they might have come from a Naboo J-type star skiff and the engines could have come off of something from the Kuat Drive Yards.

"She's a mongrel ship, through and through," Shiv said, his one dark eye watching her intently.

Ro gave a thoughtful nod. "I guess she is." Then, without thinking about it she said, "I want her."

Shiv gave a laugh that was equal parts growl and howl. "Oh, I bet you do, little bit. I can see it on your face. But," and he waggled a claw-tipped finger in front of her face, "she's not the type of ship your Master came here for."

That was true enough and Ro cast a quick glance in the direction of Master Djinn Altis, standing at the far end of the hangar and inspecting another row of starships, all of them freighters. Next to him was another Altisian Jedi, Callista Ming and Shiv's wife, Eda Ikuzu. Eda, a tall and regal looking Human, made a sweeping gesture at one of the freighters, her face slightly disgusted. The owner of the freighter stood by, looking harried and ready to burst into tears. Eda Ikuzu drove a hard bargain. Ro glanced at the freighter. It was big, bulky, inelegant in every way, but seemed to fit the purpose Master Altis had in mind.

Ro turned back to the mongrel ship. She was as different to the freighter as night was from day: sleek, elegant and powerful looking. Under the yellow-white lights of the hangar, Ro could almost believe that at any moment, the ship would flex invisible muscles and take off into the bright sky of Ansion.

"Maybe she's what _I_ came here for," she said, more to herself than to the old Shistavanen.

Shiv snorted at her declaration. "Forty years in the Republic navy and I never understood all that Jedi Force babble, but I've made it a habit never to argue. So," and he tilted his head at the girl in invitation, "while Eda is busy bargaining that freighter seller witless, why don't I give you a tour?" His face lit up with an eagerness that belied his advanced years and Ro found herself responding easily to his enthusiasm. When it came to his tinkerings, Shiv was very much a pup at heart.

He made his way to the back of the ship, the bare prosthetic that was his right leg glinting softly in the hangar's illumination. Shiv, fond of all things mechanical, never bothered covering it with synthflesh. Ro followed him eagerly, a small skip in her steps and nearly breathless with excitement as Shiv punched in a security code and the ship's loading ramp lowered to the hangar floor. The Shistavanen started talking almost as soon as one furred foot touched down on the ramp.

"I told you that during my time in Republic Intelligence I got to do a lot of traveling and spent more hours in hyperspace transit than I care to remember. And you know what they say about idle hands, eh," he said, turning to her and playfully wriggling his fingers at her. Ro giggled.

"So I had a lot of time to indulge in my hobby. RI never managed to supply its agents with the stuff we really needed, so I also came about building most of what I designed." At this, he waved his hand at the cargo bay they were now standing in. "This ship would be one of them."

Ro looked about. The cargo bay was modest in size, big enough to hold a small escape pod. Though there was no dust, she sensed that no one had used this space in a while. Like the outside of the ship, the durasteel plating was grey and unassuming.

Shiv limped towards one of the walls and pressed a small plate. The plate's color changed from grey to green and suddenly the walls of the cargo bay were moving, shifting, exposing dozens of hidden compartments of varying sizes. Ro gaped at the sight.

Shiv looked pleased at the reaction. "When I modified the original, I had this idea of the perfect spy ship. Every spooks dream, so to speak." And he waved at the hidden compartments. "You'll find these throughout the ship, specially shielded from scanners. Doesn't affect hull integrity, though," he added quickly. "The hull is triple-plated, with a thin layer of chromium between the durasteel. Makes this darling radiation resistant enough to survive an ion storm." And he slapped the wall with obvious affection, while activating the hidden panel and letting the compartments slide back closed. He motioned the girl forwards and Ro followed him obediently through the cargo bay and into the main body of the ship.

Before her stretched out a corridor, not wide enough to allow even two people to walk side-by-side. There were five doors spaced out evenly on each side of the corridor.

Shiv took up his narrative again, his low voice holding a rumble of pleasure as he pointed out the ship's features to Ro. "The original hull was only twenty meters. Now, I don't know about you, but I like my bit of space, particularly when I'm carting around folk I'd rather dump out the airlock." He gestured at the two doors closest to the cargo bay. "So I pretty much welded together two hulls of the same type and got twice the space."

Shiv made his way through the corridor, pointing to each door in turn. "Four cabins in all and one 'fresher. Could have added more, but like I said, I like room when I sleep and the extra space allowed me to install a real shower and not one of those sonic monstrosities." And the Shistavanen's two ears pressed close to his furred skull, as if in memory of some excruciating pain. Ro could sympathize. For a species with acute hearing, a sonic shower must be torture.

She had the chance to peek into two of the cabins and the 'fresher and had to admit that Shiv was right. There was space. Both cabins sported what could almost be called an actual bed, as well as a desk with chair. And Ro could see more compartments recessed into the walls. Like the cabins, the 'fresher was decently sized for a spaceship and included a shower with a sliding partition, big enough for a person of Shiv's size and bulk to comfortably stand in. Ro could see that Shiv had gone to great pains to use whatever available space there was for amenities, without creating a sense of overcrowding.

The corridor ended in a modest sized galley, a kitchenette along one side, with cupboards arranged above and to the side, and a small table and chairs on the other. The chairs, Ro noted wryly, looked like they might have been pilot chairs at one point, comfortably padded to absorb the stresses of atmo reentry. "Fully equipped galley," Shiv said, eying the space with his dark eye as if daring it to show a fault. "Cooking space and an oven; more than enough for a decent meal." He nodded towards the table bolted to the floor. "Can seat four comfortably and there are two jump seats that you can pull out from the wall." Then he gestured towards a ladder at the end of the galley, leading upwards. "Cockpit's that way."

Ro did a 360° turn, taking in the galley again, as she waited for Shiv to climb the ladder. There was a grunt from the lupine humanoid, which Ro took to mean that he was in the cockpit and she quickly clattered after him. The cockpit of the ship turned out to be as modified as the rest. Ro stared at the crescent of consoles that made up the front half of the cockpit, then glanced out through the sharply angled viewport. She stepped closer, letting her fingers trail over the sensors, noting that, like in the rest of the ship, there was no dust, though all the sensor lights were off.

"Two for a crew," Shiv said, leaning against one of the chairs. "Though of course, I finagled it so that one pilot can operate her alone, if need be." He stared at her, his black eyes serious and stern. "I recommend two for a crew though, or at least a decent astromech. Not a good idea, to be flying all by ones lonesome through space. Especially not right now."

Ro felt a shudder run down her spine. _No, especially not right now. _The battle of Geonosis and the slaughter of so many Jedi had only happened two months ago, but already the Force thrummed with further bloodshed and a rising darkness that scared Ro almost witless. Her nightmare had come with ever more frequency since the Republic had declared war on the Confederacy of Independent Systems and she was not the only Jedi to be disturbed by the unfolding events. The Altisian Jedi were in a veritable uproar about the Military Creation Act and the sudden appearance of a clone army. And the Jedi were meant to lead them. When she had heard that bit of news, Ro had scrambled for the nearest comlink, desperately trying to reach Garett. Garett, who was so close to being a Jedi Knight, who was counted as one of the most promising Jedi in the Temple. Ro's throat closed up as she remembered the weariness and the heartbreak in his voice, when she had finally managed to reach him. It had been their first conversation after he had called her to tell her about Geonosis. Their conversation hadn't gone well. He had brushed her off as soon as he could, telling her he was busy, that his trials were approaching and that the clone army was none of her business; after all, she wouldn't be fighting with them.

Their relationship had become so strained since Geonosis. That battle, seeing so many of his friends die...it had changed Garett, like it had changed the galaxy. And she didn't like those changes.

Ro felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder, and she looked through her bangs to see Shiv standing very close to her, his muzzled face compassionate. "War is a bad time to be alone," he told her. "There's a lot of evil out there now and it's easy for a single ship to get caught between two armies."

His voice was a low growl and Ro could feel a shared _pain _and _loss _from him. Of course. Shiv had served the Republic as a soldier and spy for many decades. He had lived, if not through a galaxy wide war, then through several of the smaller and no less bloody conflicts the Republic had witnessed. He would know all about the dangers of these times.

"I have Artee," she said, trying to reassure him.

Shiv gave a derisive snort. He didn't think much of R3-T3, the astromech she had picked up on an excursion to Lotho Minor.

"That," he told her, "is not reassuring. You know the R3 series has none of the guts the R2s have. Now, maybe we should rejoin your Master," he suggested softly. "Maybe take a closer look at that freighter. I'm sure the _Wookiee Gunner _would serve the purpose Djinn has in mind." His tone had become slightly wheedling, as if he had only now realized the import of showing her the ship.

Under normal circumstances, Ro would happily comply with any of Shiv's requests, but right now, her mind was fully occupied with other matters. _The purpose he had in mind._ Those were weighty words. Not a week after Geonosis, a call had gone out to all Jedi to return to the Temple to discuss the Order's role in the war. Even Master Altis had been invited, though technically, the Altisians were only aligned with the Order in the broadest of definitions. But they had still been offered the opportunity to take up a rank in the new Grand Army and lead battalions of clone soldiers into battle. Master Altis had refused on behalf of his sect, though he had told his followers that any who chose to go would not be stopped. No one had, as far as Ro knew. Not yet, anyway. But Master Altis had determined that they could not stand idly by, while the galaxy was torn apart by war. So the Altisians had come to a tacit agreement with the Order and had taken up the mantle of relief aid, going to planets where there had been fighting and cleaning up after what the GAR had left behind. And that was beginning to turn out to be a bigger job than they had thought, which was why Master Altis had come to Ansion, to visit his friends and to procure more freight ships for the Altisians.

And that was wonderful. It really was. Because obviously, somebody had to deliver those emergency rations and medicine and what not, since apparently, the Senate couldn't be bothered with that consideration. It was just…she wasn't sure that that was what she should be doing.

"I want to hear more about this ship," Ro said firmly. It was just…that it didn't feel like enough to Ro.

Shiv cocked his head to the side, studying her very carefully, then he gave a single, heavy sigh.

"I see," he said and maybe he did. With another sigh that spoke of the years weighing on him, Shiv let himself fall into one of the padded chairs, gesturing for Ro to do the same. To her surprise, the chair immediately began to conform to her body, providing her with the maximum amount of comfort. Ro raised a pale eyebrow at that. Shiv really liked his little luxuries.

Shiv began pointing out the various controls to her, lecturing her about each function, explaining the special modifications he had made over the years.

"Like I said earlier, I wanted to build the perfect spy ship. Something that could outrun most fighters, but with enough fire power to get into a good scrap and come out on top. She makes 2000 kph in atmo with the sublight engines, the hyperdrive will push you all the way to a speed of class two." He looked at her in obvious self-satisfaction. "That's the speed most military starships manage now a days."

Ro gave an appreciative whistle. That was…really fast.

"As for fire power, well she's got two heavy repeating-fire laser cannons below the wings and an automated sentry gun on top that I managed to salvage from a busted tank. With the right person on the trigger," and he pointed out to her the targeting console, "you can blow pretty much anything out of the sky that happens to catch your fancy."

Ro studied the targeting array carefully, then turned back to Shiv, frowning. "You said you wanted a spy ship. This sounds more like a battle frigate."

Shiv made another rumbling sound that was the Shistavanen equivalent of a chuckle. "Nothing gets by you, eh? Take a look to your left. See that row of buttons and dials?"

Ro looked and nodded.

"Well, they ain't just there to brighten up the place. Those are the instruments needed to operate the cloaking device."

Ro was aware that she was staring now, like an Alderaani deer caught in the headlights.

"A-a cloaking device?" she asked, both awed and incredulous. Cloaking devices were rare and very expensive. And as far as she knew, they were never used in a vessel this small.

Shiv smiled at her slack-jawed astonishment, reaching out one hand to gently close her mouth. His fur tickled.

"A cloaking device." He confirmed. "I won't tell you how I got it, but suffice to say it wasn't entirely illegal and while I may have lost both my eyeteeth in the deal, I didn't have to barter away my firstborn."

It was a joke and Ro smiled, but she was suddenly feeling less confidant about all of this. A cloaking device! Sweet Force, those things cost a fortune. For the first time since she saw the ship, the question of credits entered her mind. For the past year, Ro had been paying back Eda and Shiv for her lessons and room by doing various chores and by selling some small bits of self-made jewelry in their shop, Odd Ends. But she had basically been provided for - as she had been all of her life. But she couldn't just expect Shiv to _give _her this ship. Not only must he have spent years building her, but even if he had salvaged most of her parts, he must have sunk a minor fortune into the project.

Shiv must have deduced her thoughts from the shifting expressions on her face, because his one eye softened perceptibly, as did the smile. "Worried about paying my asking price?"

"I," she swallowed. "You know I don't have a lot of creds." Early on during her stay on Ansion, during a lesson about alternate identities, Eda had established an account for Ro under her pseudonym Roweena Ikuzu. The account held a meager amount of creds from her earnings of the jewelry sell, which her mentors had insisted she keep in case of an emergency. But it would not be nearly enough to pay for a starship. Master Altis did keep a slush fund which all of his students had access to, but, it didn't feel right to use the slush fund for this kind of purchase. The money in that account was supposed to be for emergencies and necessities. And while Ro might feel that _she _needed this ship, she was pretty sure that others would not see it in that light. Not that anyone would contest her claim on the sect's finances, but Ro would feel dishonest doing so. Besides, she wanted this ship to be _hers _and buying it with the Altisian money would make it everyone else's as well.

"Hhmmm," Shiv leaned back in the seat, watching her intently, then looking about the cockpit deep in thought. "You know, Eda is most likely going to have my hide when she finds out we had this conversation. And I wouldn't blame her. I don't like the idea that I see forming in your head."

"Which is?"

"That you want to go out gallivanting in the galaxy all on your lonesome in this mongrel ship, just as the galaxy is beginning to tear itself apart." His face was serious as he leaned towards her, his bass voice lower than usual. "Ro, I want you to think about this very, very carefully. I've seen war and I've seen what happens to the people who try to do the right thing while the blasters are screaming. It's not a pretty sight and it rarely pays off. I won't lie to you," he smiled tiredly at her. "I know I can't and you know I care too much for you to do so. So I'll say it straight. If you feel like you have to leave," he paused for a moment, looking down, his face working. Ro felt her heart clench at the sight. "If you have to leave us," Shiv continued, "then I would prefer you go with Altis. There's safety in numbers and Altis knows a bit more about being in a war zone than he would ever care to admit."

"But that's not what you've been training me for," Ro said, her voice almost a whisper. She hated doing this to Shiv, hated seeing him so full of worry and fear for her. Eda, she knew, would be the same, though the fierce Human woman would hide it better. She didn't want them to worry about her; she didn't even really want to leave them. But she had to. Already HNE was full of stories about crime syndicates taking advantage of the sudden absence of the Jedi to engage in their own turf wars. Chaos was brewing and not just on the frontlines.

"Shiv," she carefully placed her much smaller hand into his big paw. "This is what I've been training for. My place isn't on a freighter filled with emergency supplies. It's out there, hunting down the bad guys, trying to protect people. And that has become more important than ever, now that most of the other Jedi are concentrating on the war. I have to do my part." She gave his furred paw a slight squeeze. "And I would like to do so in your ship."

He searched her face and Ro suddenly became very aware of the white fur that almost completely covered his muzzle and the white spots on his dark brown pelt, peeking out from beneath his clothing. Shiv was getting old. And so was Eda. The thought scared her. Would she be leaving them to grow even older, without anyone to look after them? Was this the danger of attachment? Worrying about someone to the point where you began to question your perceived duty?

Then Shiv's rubbery black lips pulled back and with the return of his smile, his face lost all traces of age. "And while you're in my ship, you'll be as snug as a bug in a rug." He gave an emphatic nod. "Safest place you could possibly be." He squeezed her fingers as well. "And you are right, this is what we have been training you for and I _know _that you can do this. But," and know he waggled a finger in her face, "don't think I'm going to let you off lightly with my ship. I've put a lot of sweat, years and credits into this darling and I won't sell her cheap, even for," he swallowed, "even for someone I consider my own flesh and blood."

Ro felt tears sting her eyes at that declaration. Shiv cleared his throat noisily, obviously a little uncomfortable at the sudden emotionality of the moment. "So I tell you what. You and me, we're gonna have a little chat in which you can tell me all the ways in which you can earn a living for yourself. Once we've got a few good ideas, we can figure out a payment plan." He raised his clawed hand to stop any effusive gratitude she might have voiced at that moment.

"I warn you though, you'll likely be paying me back till your pups have grey hair."

"I totally don't care," Ro said, and found herself squeeing a little before flinging herself at the seated Shiv in an enthusiastic hug. The old Shistavanen smiled indulgently, returning the hug and slightly patting her back.

"Now, now. No need to be getting all sentimental. I have a reputation to uphold as a mean old wolf, so you best be letting go now." But there was no reproof in his growling voice and Ro was still grinning from ear to ear when she pulled back.

"You won't regret this Shiv, I promise. I'll pay you back every credit and I'll take good care of the ship."

Shiv nodded. "I bet you will." Then he put a hand on the top of her head. "And don't go forgetting to take care of yourself as well and don't let anyone," he cast a significant glance out the viewport at the other Altisian Jedi, "make you doubt what you are doing. I respect Djinn immensely, but sometimes, he's a little too unwilling to pull that saber of his. The galaxy needs more than just peacekeepers and philanthropists. It also needs soldiers," and he leaned slightly closer to her, looking deeply into her teal eyes. "And it needs a few rogues who can fly into danger and make a stand."

He removed his hand from her head and stood up from his seat, leaving Ro blinking in surprised astonishment. How had he guessed at some of her deeper anxieties about buying this ship? Then she smiled at her own folly. Of course Shiv would know; he knew her like a father, because...well, because she confided in him like a daughter. She had always stood out a little among the Altisians, simply because she did not always share the more pacifistic tendencies of some of its members. Nor did she like indulging all the time in the endless philosophical debates that tended to dominate the day. If the Temple had been all about feeling your way through the Force, then the Altisians were more about thinking your way through. And Ro had always been stuck in the middle, never really able of coming down on one side of the argument. It wasn't always comfortable, being a part of a community with certain firm ideals that were sometimes at odds with your personal impulses. And Shiv knew that.

"I'm gonna go see how the others are doing and let Djinn know that you and I are gonna do some bargaining of our own," and Shiv began to make his way down the ladder into the galley.

"Wait," Ro called and the Shistavanen froze, the lower half of his body already out of sight.

"Yes?" he asked, slightly puzzled. "Having second thoughts after all?"

"No, that's not it," she told him, emphatically shaking her head and making her hair fly. "I was just wondering…what's her name?"

"Name?" Shiv asked, momentarily confused. Then his face brightened and a playful twinkle came into his eye. "Well, my beloved wife likes to call her 'that useless hunk of space debris taking up my time and her money', but I never did manage to fit all that on the hull, so…" And he gave an eloquent shrug, quite a feat for someone hanging off of a ladder. "I guess the naming part is up to you." And with that, he disappeared down the ladder.

Ro swiveled the chair back to the console, once more studying all the buttons, levers and dials and imagining them lighted up, with the engines revving. She drew a hand over the cool surface of the console before her, thinking hard.

What should she name the ship; a ship that would be her very own? A ship that would take her through a galaxy that had suddenly become a very dangerous and very dark place. A ship she would use to do…to do what exactly? To fight. But not to fight on the frontlines. No, Ro wanted to go someplace else, to places far darker than the battlefield. She had learned much in her time with Master Altis, had seen many a place she had never heard of and which the Republic had seemingly forgotten. And there was darkness there and monsters that prayed in that darkness and who were left in peace more or less by a government always more concerned with the 'big picture' than with the plight of the weak and the powerless. And she had a feeling that with this war, those people would only further fall between the cracks of the Senate legislation.

So she was going to hunt monsters in the middle of a war. Ro actually laughed out loud at the idea. Force, she was crazy. But the laugh had sent something deep inside of her in motion and Ro felt a soft tickling sensation at the back of her neck as the Force began to work around her.

"I want…" she hesitated, trying to pick her words carefully for once. "I want…something that laughs," she told the empty air. "I want something that can look danger in the eye and let it know it's not afraid. Something that can sail through the worst of troubles."

She tapped a finger against the console, then drummed out a quick melody, full of flourishes and brave cadences. And in the silence of the cockpit aboard that waiting starship and amidst the gentle flurry of the Force, a picture came to Ro's mind. She saw a small bird in a bright blue sky, buffeted by heavy winds, but gamely flying on to some unknown destination.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of machinery and durasteel. When she opened her eyes again, she was smiling once more. Deciding to indulge in a bit of archaic fun, she solemnly placed one hand flat against the console.

"I dub thee…_Mockingbird._" The name echoed for a moment through the cockpit, to be answered by an increase in the tickling sensation racing up her skin.

"We have work to do."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And so the first installment in my _Mockingbird _series comes to an end. I want to thank all of you for being such wonderful readers; for taking the time to join me in my little corner of George Lucas' sandbox and for leaving such wonderful reviews. Each and everyone of them was a balm to my soul.

The second part of the series, _The Call of the Mockingbird, _was scheduled to start posting as soon as this story came to an end. However, I am currently in the midst of the endex for my MA and though I wish it weren't so, that takes precedence. So I will post a preview of the next story on Monday and regular posting will commence on May 13th. Until then: Keep Calm and Carry a Book.


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